


Anthology! (あんそろ!)

by Midonin



Series: TK-ON! Almost [2]
Category: K-On!
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Mistaken Identity, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midonin/pseuds/Midonin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akira, Sachi and Ayame find a man who's one of Death Devil's biggest fans. He offers to become Onna Gumi's costume designer. There may be more to this entrepreneur than he lets on. Enough to affect the concert in Tokyo.<br/></p><hr/><p>Sumire and Nao are attending the concert, when Sumire receives an urgent message from her father. She meets with John Barraud, a young executive who claims to be Mugi's fiancee. Sumire investigates this further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Onna Gumi Chapter #1: DEATH DEVIL! (恩那組編 #1: デスデビ!)

My name is Rosalie Wada. My identity is not my own, merely an extension of my master Akira’s. My purpose is to bring sound to this world as my master desires. I am an instrument. Purchased through the sweat and tears of my master, I joined Onna Gumi, and became their most prominent member, inseparable from my master’s identity. Without me, she’s a tomboy with a demeanor that makes people cautious to approach. Without her, I am a fancy display piece in the front window of a music shop.

Until I met him. Gitah Hirasawa, owned by that childish guitarist Yui. His strings had rusted over due to her ignorance, but his rain-splattered body belied a musical form that was perfectly in tune. Worse, it was by accident. Yet, he and his master were happy to be playing music, unaware of the latent talent that was hidden within them. That’s not to say I hated him. He didn’t give me any reason to. He always wanted to play duets or learn some new tricks from my master and her friends. The rest of Houkago Tea Time’s instruments reassured me this was normal.

Before long, our last year of college came. Akira was on her way to becoming a teacher, but she promised to remain as part of Onna Gumi for as long as she could. It would be a fun career to moonlight by, giving her an edge that would endear her to her students, or so she hoped.  


* * *

It was late in April, and Onna Gumi had been invited to perform at a cherry blossom festival in Nagoya. Sachi, Ayame and my master were having breakfast at the Tiger Cafe. The sun had barely broken over the horizon, and the air was still crisp and cold. Akira’s coffee was left mostly untouched. Ayame was stuffing her mouth full of sweets.

“Seriously, a flower viewing?” asked Akira, tapping on the dewy glass window. “I was hoping we’d be performing in a club with lots of neon signs and a smoke machine. If we have to perform some sort of sappy love ballad here, people might think that’s all we can do.”

“This does seem like the kind of thing Yui would enjoy, would it?” said Ayame, tapping her spoon on the edge of the table like a tinny metronome. “Cheer up, Akira. We can find a club to crash tonight.”

“It’s not about the place, it’s about our image,” said Akira. “Not just that, we’re going first.”

“We are still a college band,” said Sachi, “perhaps we’ll get lucky. Have you heard about Houkago Tea TIme performing at the Budokan? This could be our stepping stone to success.”

“Getting to the Budokan that quickly is unreal,” said Akira. A waitress came by and left the bill behind for the three. Akira and her friends continued talking as they left the cafe. “Let’s go. I wanna take in the scenery. Who knows when we’ll be coming back here?”

Akira placed her hands in her pockets and briskly walked ahead. Sachi’s steps grew wider as she sought to catch up. Ayame, however, heard the sound of a can rolling across the street, and peeked down the intersection.

A figure, lightly dressed with a notebook in his hand, was running up the street. Something bulky and cylindrical was swinging from a cord on his neck. His shirt was wrinkled, half of it not tucked into his pants. Ayame reached out her hand in a brief but wasted attempt to call his name. By the time her breath had been drawn, he had vanished behind the next row of buildings.

Ayame closed her eyes, and looked across the block once more. Nobody was there. Her friends were about to round the street corner themselves. She sprinted, her golden hair blowing in the wind, and caught up. Sachi turned around, asking what it was the drummer had seen. Ayame nervously laughed in response.  


* * *

Everyone was headed down to the park for the flower viewing, leaving the streets of Nagoya sparsely packed. The three piece band take in the scent of the city. Freshly cooked bread, the starchy smell of suits and the fainest hint of cherry blossoms made a smell that was unusual, but not unpleasant. As they neared the park, the crowds began to swell. A large cluster of folks of all ages were at the front of the park.

“How do they expect us to get to the stage?” asked Sachi.

“We could always ask,” said Akira.

“I don’t know if they’ll hear us over all the shouting,” said Ayame.

A member of the city council tapped Akira on the shoulder. She turned around, preparing her fists in defense, only to see that it was a harmless man. He was holding up a clipboard. He nodded his head towards a cable connected to the stage’s speakers. Onna Gumi got the message, and followed him to the spot where we, their instruments, were waiting.

“This is a pretty large park,” said Akira. “Are you sure you’ll be getting your money’s worth out of a group like us?”

“We do have a couple of sponsors,” said the man, “I’ve heard there are people from some major record labels here scouting out new talent. Don’t mind the signs, girls. Come on, get dressed.”

The man revealed a set of three cherry blossom patterned yukata in varying shades of pink. Akira winced, but knew she would have to go through with it. Onna Gumi wasn’t the one holding the cards in this scenario. The three musicians walked towards the changing room hidden within the park. Akira glanced at the signboards placed across the park giving thanks to the sponsors.

“Our gratitude to Masaka Yumeno,” she said, reading in a hushed voice, “That’s a weird name.”

“Come on, Akira,” said Ayame, grabbing Akira by the arm, “Let’s make you cute!”

“I don’t want to be cute!” Akira protested.

The sounds that followed were intense and stare inducing. Without a Gitah-like presence in this band, we’re a much more cohesive unit. Yet our enthusiasm for this gig is less than optimal.

“Alright, Rosalie. Let’s make this count,” said my master as we ascended to the stage.

People of all ages were lined up on blankets, their lunches set out. Some of them were drinking sake, and talking amongst themselves in voices too distant for the trio to hear. Sachi played a few notes on her bass, and turned to Akira. A group of children playing a game of tag ran through Onna Gumi’s field of view. When they had cleared away, a solitary man was seen reclining against a tree.

“I think he’s looking at us,” said Sachi.

A spiral notepad was in his left hand, and a pen was in his right. A pair of binoculars hung around his neck. He was skinny and his hair was messy. His clothes were mismatched, a bright red shirt with dark khaki pants. He looked like a blot of ink that had dropped into the matte painting of the cherry blossom fields in front of us. The man was clearly approaching middle age, but looked five years younger.

“That’s him!” shouted Ayame, standing up over the drums. Her voice wasn’t picked up on the mic, luckily. The sound of her feet stomping onto the stage drew the attention of the crowds.

“Ayame, everyone’s going to the flower viewing,” said Sachi, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sorry,” said Ayame, sitting down once more.

Akira approached the mic, holding me tightly between her arms. My strings were tight and tuned, and my black body reflected the curtains of sunlight cutting through the branches. The wind was blowing behind us, carrying every pluck of my strings to the ears of the people.

“We’re Onna Gumi, from Tokyo,” said Akira nervously, “Thanks for inviting us out here today, and...”

“We’re gonna show you a fun time!” said Ayame, “One! Two! A-one two three four!”

Our first song had been personally written by Sachi. It was a powerful sound, heavy on the guitar. The song’s lyrics spoke of a girl so large she can’t see the world beneath her. If the largeness is a metaphor or literal is something we leave up to the audience. Though I doubted most of the audience was listening. All they could hear was the melody of the song providing background noise to their midday meal.

Except for that man. He had his binoculars focused on Akira. He wasn’t staring her directly into the face, but looking to her left, as if there was something beyond the trees that had caught his attention.

“Maybe he’s a birdwatcher,” said Ayame, working her statement into the beats of the song’s bridge. We wrapped up our first tune. The audience gave us a round of applause, scattered but appreciative.

The next two songs had not been chosen by the band. They wanted us to do an enka song to celebrate the cherry blossoms blooming. I am not a traditional instrument, so my body had not been built for these kinds of songs. Akira’s singing voice wasn’t cut out for enka either. She was a rocker at heart, used to screaming in a deep voice, shouting words that barely completed themselves before moving onto the next lyric. Enka is the exact opposite of that.

We tried our best to play the song. Compared to what the girls had written on their own, the lyrics were short. It’s just that every syllable was held for so long. The crowd was paying more attention to us this time. Their stares only intensified the nervousness that comes with playing something outside one’s genre.

When five minutes had passed, Akira bent down onto the stage. The crowd applauded with more passion than before. Akira stood up and wiped the sweat off her forehead, leaving a dark spot on her yukata. Playing that song had left her more worn out than anything Yui had put her through.

A short medley of our favorite songs followed.We were about to clear off the stage for the next band when the city council member reminded us there was one more song we had to perform. “Waga Nagoya”. We complied. It was easier than the enka, at least.

“We are Onna Gumi, thank you everybody,” said Akira.

“See you at the club tonight!” shouted Ayame.

“Ayame, quiet,” said Sachi.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the stage...” said the emcee.

The three girls departed. Ayame wasn’t looking forward to transporting her drum kit all the way home again. They entered the changing rooms, removing the yukata. There was nothing worn underneath these robes, and their bodies had gotten sweaty. Akira shivered as a blast of cold air her struck her small chest.

“What was with binoculars man?” asked Ayame. “I think he had his eye on you, Akira.”

“That’s just creepy,” said Akira.

“Perhaps he’s a fan outside our audience of college girls,” said Sachi.

“That’s kinda our only audience,” said Ayame.

“So, what do you want to do for the rest of the day?” said Akira, slipping on a black tank top, “We could stick around for the flower viewing, but if the town’s empty, I think it’s a good chance to do some sightseeing.”

“I think we have to stay here,” said Sachi, “They want us to join the other bands at the end.”

“Playing a gig is hard when you don’t hold all the cards,” said Akira.

Onnna Gumi left the changing rooms. They briskly walked towards a secluded area of the park. An old rope and wood swing hung from one of the tree branches, and the hill sloped gently enough to allow a view, but also to give the girls a sense of privacy. Almost.

That man with the binoculars was waiting by the tree. He slipped his notebook into his breast pocket and smiled. Akira’s face scrunched up in fright. “There’s nothing to fear,” he said, “I could tell by your earring and your music. The real music, not the stuff the bigwigs wanted you to play,” he said, “Are you a Death Devil tribute band?”

“Death Devil?” asked Akira.

“There’s a lot of black and red, and chokers. You don’t look like the kind to wear a lot of makeup. It’s the music that’s important, and your sound is quite close to theirs,” said the man with the binoculars.

“Who the hell is Death Devil?” asked Akira.

“I think Yui might have mentioned them in passing,” said Sachi.

“Hirasawa. Why do I remember all this useless trivia?” said Akira. Yui had spoken of Houkago Tea Time’s past at great length, expecting Akira to follow her pace. Akira had retained some of the knowledge through constant repetition, but she couldn’t recall the details at a moment’s notice.

“You understand what it means to be a rock musician. Can you sign this notebook for me?” said the man, holding out his pen.

“We’re not a Death Devil tribute band,” said Akira. “Stop bothering us.”

“You’re right,” said the man, his face involuntarily breaking out into a smile. “Perhaps I should introduce myself to you girls. My name is Kota Yatsubo, costume designer to the stars. I promise you won’t have to wear any more cutesy stuff while I’m in charge.” He took out his business card and handed it to Akira.

Onna Gumi huddled a safe distance away, looking at the card. There was no organization listed. The listed address was in this area, but the cards were yellowed and faded, with noticeable creases. Sachi noticed dust gathering on the tip of her finger when she touched the paper.

“Do we need a costume designer?” asked Akira. “That seem so... Hirasawa-like.”

“Houkago Tea Time does have that advantage over us. Taking him into our circle would even the playing field,” said Sachi.

“He did say no more cuteness,” said Ayame with a smirk.

“No more cuteness is good. If it doesn’t look good with a black guitar, it’s not worth doing,” said Akira.

“Think about it, he wants to work for us. We get some say in our image,” said Ayame.

“He looks kind of old,” said Sachi, “and I think he has us mistaken for someone else.”

“This is the closest to being scouted we’ve had,” said Akira, showing a smile, “I say we go for it.”

The huddle broke. Akira took out her cell phone and punched in Mr. Yatsubo’s number. She showed him the phone’s screen, and told him he could do the same.

Once the introductions were finished, Yatsubo grabbed Akira by her hands. He bent down on one knee, looking up at her with his tired face. Akira winced and took a step back.

“Wait, don’t go!” he said, “You’re not going to reject me too, are you?”

“No, no. Just... keeping a safe distance,” said Akira.

“I’m okay with that. Thank you so much, girls. You’re the first group I’ve had that’s even willing to look at me in years. What gave you the change of heart?” he stood up, extending his hand towards Akira for a shake. Akira returned the favor, but now with an air of confusion hovering around her.

“Well...” said Akira, “I had this friend back at university. She told me her high school club advisor was really into this kind of stuff. Ms. Yamanaka, she said. I guess I want to try it for myself. For friendship, I guess.”

Mr. Yatsubo’s eyes opened wide. “Yamanaka? As in Sawako Yamanaka?” he asked.

“Yui said she was called ‘Sawa’, so I think that was her. Any reason?” asked Akira.

“Sawako Yamanaka, also known as CATHERINE!” shouted Yatsubo, “Death Devil’s guitarist, one of the most charismatic stage presences of the past twenty years. Girls, it would be an honor to work for you. If you can get me a line to Catherine, I’ll do my best for you.”

Akira stood still for a moment. “Sure.”

A partnership had been born. Yatsubo hastily scribbled an address onto the back of his business card, telling us to meet him there in the afternoon.  


* * *

Onna Gumi returned to watching the flowers bloom. The cherry trees were a brilliant pink. Even in the daytime, there was a feeling in the air that, in this moment, anything could happen. More bands, none of them as “hardcore”, in the words of my master, as Onna Gumi followed, along with several comedy acts and a stage magician. Before long the stage cleared, and the cherry trees themselves became the entertainment.

People started to filter out as the sun began its descent across the sky. They had other places to go, and so did we. Sachi rolled up the blanket, placing it below her shoulder strap. We weren’t very familiar with Nagoya, and getting to a far off destination like Yatsubo’s would require some extra time.

Akira felt a dull buzzing sensation in her pocket. She flipped open her cell phone. It was not a new mail from Yatsubo, as she had expected, but from a name that was fresh in her mind, but meaningless.

“Masaka.... Yumeno?” asked Akira.

“She must be coordinating this,” said Sachi. “Though I didn’t hear anyone by that name being called for today.”

“How’d she your number anyway?” asked Ayame.

“You think I know?” said Akira, “Let’s see here...”

Onna Gumi, hello. I am a Pony Canyon employee who oversees musical events such as these. Music is not the only thing we’re scouting. Events require people of many talents, including costumes. If you see any stray threads, follow them. They may be pulled apart, but they can also be sewn back together. Best of luck. Masaka Yumeno.

“Hirasawa must have told her about us,” said Akira.

“You sure it’s Hirasawa?” said Ayame.

“Mugi seems to be the business-oriented one of their band. Getting a foot in the door for us is such a sweet thing to do,” said Sachi.

“We’re not sure if that’s what’s going on,” said Akira. “Maybe we should pay Yatsubo a visit. A short visit, though. Our image could go way down if we’re seen with a freeter like him.”

The streets were filled with people once more. A group of girls in high school uniforms passed by the members of Onna Gumi along the way. Akira gave her friends a smile. They recollected the moment they formed their band back in high school. They were wrapped up in their conversation to the point that they almost missed the apartment complex where Yatsubo had asked to meet them.

“Looks like this is the place,” said Akira.

Ayame ran towards the doorbell and called up the room listed on the card. Yatsubo’s voice came through the intercom.

“Oh, girls, sorry about that. I was getting something organized,” he said. “It’s on the third floor, room 304.”

The sliding door opened up, making way for the band to enter. The apartment lobby was a little run down. The decor looked like it hadn’t changed since the early 90s. It was clean, but stepping into it made Akira feel out of her element. It was the kind of place students would dare each other to walk through at night, the kind of place where the walls were squeaky to the touch.

“The elevator’s having some repairs done,” said the man at the front desk, “The stairwell is over there.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” said Sachi, bowing towards him.

Room 304. A nameplate was on the front of the door, and a corner of a sheet of paper could be seen sticking out of the front door. Sachi knocked on the front door.

“Mr. Yatsubo, it’s us. Onna Gumi,” she said.

“Coming!” said Yatsubo.

The doorknob turned, and Yatsubo himself was standing there. He had changed into a T-shirt and jeans, looking like a college slacker. The front hall of his home was bare, and the faint humming of a computer coupled with the sound of a fan blowing the wind about the room could be heard from the back.

“Are you okay?” asked Akira.

“Never better,” said Yatsubo.

“Your hands look kinda blistery,” said Ayame, looking down at his left hand, hanging down near his waist. His index finger and thumb had bandages wrapped around them, and his palm was red and speckled with swollen bits of flesh.

“Come in. I was just getting the place ready,” said Yatsubo.

Akira, Ayame and Sachi walked inside. The pure white hallway, reflecting the rays of the afternoon sunlight, was blinding to look at. The room that lay beyond the hallway, on the other hand, was covered in memorabilia from the late 90s. Piles of CDs were haphazardly thrown about the room, and scraps of fabric in many colors, but mostly black and red, covered the surface of the desk.

DEATH DEVIL, read the posters. The posters could hardly be called official. All of them looked like photographs taken at concerts from a distance. Some of them were from up close, but at unflattering angles. They had been blown up to a giant size, exposing their imperfections even further.

Ayame walked over towards the computer, trying to peek at what mysteries the screen held. The screen turned to black the moment she approached. Yatsubo stood in front of the screen, holding out his hands and pushing away the girls. His teeth were clenched, and his hands were shaking. Whether it was from the injuries or not, Onna Gumi did not know.

“Costume designer to the stars, you said?” leered Ayame.

“I’ve been following Death Devil from Tokyo to Kyoto to every summer festival they’ve played,” said Yatsubo, “I don’t think they know I exist. The band broke up before I had a chance to meet any of them.”

Akira pulled out one of Yatsubo’s CDs, brushing the dust off and looking at the band name. Anvil. Yatsubo’s hand backed onto the mouse, revealing a crude translation of one of their songs into Japanese. Behind that was an e-mail from Cospa. A word in the letterhead had been highlighted.

“Rejection.”

“I’m not even able to copy other peoples’ clothes to sell to those delusional nerds. And yet, that’s how I make my money. I have to accept what commissions come in these days, but you, you girls are the first people I’ve seen that I want to work on. So many body shapes, so many different aesthetics, all united under the banner of music that tells the world you’re in control,” said Yatsubo.

“This is sad,” said Akira, walking towards the door, “I’m out of-”

Sachi stepped in front of Akira, pushing forward on her guitarist’s chest. Akira tried to take a step or two forward, but her feet squeaked against the hard wood floor of the apartment. “You’re not leaving unless all of us agree to leave,” said Sachi. “He doesn’t sound insincere. And he looks too weak to hurt us.”

Ayame was holding her hand over her mouth in mousy laughter. Yatsubo’s grin changed to a stone-faced response.

“The day is still young. Didn’t you want someone in the crowds to notice our music? Well, we’re looking at him. The Onna Gumi name can be our chance to rise to stardom, and his. Akira Wada, if you walk out now, will you be able to live with yourself?”

“Yeah,” said Akira, looking at the disheveled room.

“I guess I’d feel kinda bad,” said Ayame, “Nothing worse than raising someone’s dreams only to crush them again.”

Kota Yatsubo cleared away the clutter near his closet, and grabbed the edge of the door. “Perhaps I should show you something I’ve completed,” he said, sliding open the white wooden panel. Inside was a red dress and a demonic looking mask perched atop a pale, flesh-colored mannequin. The mannequin’s blank eyes had been made up to resemble the stage makeup of Catherine.

“A perfect replica,” he said. “I can do the same for you. Now do you believe?”


	2. Sumire Chapter #1: Engagement! (菫編 #1: 婚約!)

The light music club at Sakuragaoka High had never gone digital with their music until I joined. I could feel Sawa’s eyes on me from a distance, questioning my reason for being there. Yui Hirasawa was a prodigy, but all I could produce was chaos. That computer saved me. The band could listen to a melody before a single note was played, and our music could take on sounds it had never had before, gaining accompaniment from within the software.

My name is Nao Okuda, music producer for the Sakuragaoka Light Music Club. In my second year, my seniors graduated, leaving me and Sumire Saito in charge of the band. Neither of us had the charisma that Azusa or Yui had, but the band kept going. We had each other, at least, and that was enough to get people interested in joining. Time has passed since then, and Sumire and I have entered our first year of university.  


* * *

I was sleeping on the desk out in the dorm room, my computer humming above me, sending out a faint blue glow. I had spent the night working on a music video for Azusa. She had told me that it reminded her of herself, in the final days before her friends’ graduation. It was nothing complex, mostly footage of her performing in the school lounge, but she wanted me to turn it in on time, even if that meant staying up all night.

Someone was tapping on my shoulder. It was a light poke, but it hit the nape of my neck, jolting me up from the chair. I looked over at the coffee I had purchased last night. It was mostly empty. The remaining drops dribbled out onto the floor as the can rolled itself up to the trash can, stopping with a light clanging noise.

I looked up. The person waking me had bright blue eyes and golden hair, perhaps the lightest shade I’ve ever seen. She was slightly taller than average, but that only served to make her more timid. She picked up the can and threw it away, smiling as she did so. This was the Sumire I had mentioned before.

“We’re living on our own now, you should do your part to keep this room clean,” she said in a light but criticising tone.

“There’s work to be done,” I said in between yawns.

“I have work to do, too,” said Sumire indignantly.

“Isn’t cleaning things up your job?” I said, my brain not catching up with my mouth just yet, “The shadow of the Kotobuki household still hangs over you, doesn’t it?”

Sumire froze, and retreated into the kitchen. “I’ll get back to making breakfast,” she said, hastily trying to change the subject, “What would you like?”

“Anything will do,” I answered.

The Saito family has served the Kotobuki family for generations, Sumire is only the latest. Going away to college should have freed her from her duty, but this is the same college Lady Tsumugi is at. Not that Kotobuki’s issued us any formal orders, but Sumire always lives with the thought that she will.

Sumire walked out to the table with a large plate of pancakes for me, and a smaller plate of pancakes for herself. She slid the plate in front of me, and I began digging in. I asked Sumire for a coffee, and she complied. Once I had a sip of the bitter yet creamy drink, my alertness had returned to normal. I stood up and grabbed my textbooks.

“Just these should be good for today,” I said, stepping carefully towards my bedroom. My pace quickened as the caffeine reached my body. My left foot got caught in the cable holding my laptop to the wall, and my right foot got caught on my left. I stumbled onto the carpet, the friction of the floor rubbing against my elbows. My textbooks spilled out in front of me.

“Nao!” said Sumire, rushing to help me up.

“This is nothing,” I said.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I could hear the phone ringing behind me, it grew silent, until stopping altogether when Sumire picked it up. I stepped into the shower and let the sounds of the water drown out the conversation outside. My body perked up. The water sounded like a drum roll, the steps of my feet became notes. Even when taking a break from music producing, I couldn’t escape it.

Without my glasses, the world became blurry and unfocused. The water streaming down on my head, accentuated by the pale white light filtering in through the window, made the shower appear a watery veil before me. With my body rejuvenated, I shut off the shower and started feeling around for my glasses. They were nowhere to be found on the countertop. A warm hand gave me my glasses.

“Sumire, what is it?” I said, rubbing the water droplets off the lenses.

“Wonderful news!” she said, holding my hands.

“Oh?” I said.

“Lady Tsumugi just called. She and Houkago Tea Time have been invited to perform at Budokan! Milady and her friends are finally achieving their dreams. I’m so happy for them,” said Sumire, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, I wish I could be on stage with them. But they already have a drummer. Whoever heard of a maid who plays the drums?”

“Can I get dressed?” I asked.

“Let me help you with that, please, Miss Producer,” said Sumire. “Si-since I’m here already.”

She wasn’t saying anything, but I could hear it in her inflection. Sumire had been assisting Tsumugi since she was young, and now that her lady was finally doing something independently, Sumire couldn’t help but feel she was responsible, if only indirectly, for this chance at stardom. She wanted to be thanked for something she wasn’t even sure if she’d done.

It was a feeling I was familiar with.  


* * *

We received another call a month later after Lady Tsumugi had met with someone by the name of Masaka Yumeno. Sumire had offered to come along, but Mugi declined. She didn’t give a reason why, which did little to help Sumire’s anxiousness.

It was the middle of February now. Sumire was sitting at her drum kit in the middle of her room. She had yet to touch the drums today. Though she was playing for an audience of no one, something was stopping her body from moving. I set my books down on the table and sat on the couch beside her.

“You seem out of it,” I said.

“What am I going to do? I want to be at the concert to support Lady Tsumugi, but I can’t just ask her for tickets. She might get angry at me, and say something like ‘Sumire, I’m making sacrifices, so you should too’, and leave me stranded. I’m living on a college student’s budget, how am I supposed to get train and concert tickets to go to Tokyo? It’s all too much to take in,” said Sumire, barely stopping to catch her breath.

“Have you tried contacting Azusa?” I asked.

“Azusa said she didn’t know anything about a concert,” said Sumire.

“That’s... weird,” I said.

Sumire would continue to act like this for the rest of the day. She wasn’t paying attention in class. The margins of her notes were filled with financial calculations and pining for Mugi. Day turned into night. Sumire was back at her drum kit, her cell phone in hand. I was making dinner this time, hoping she had found an answer to her dillemma.

The phone’s ringing resounded through the empty house, broken up only by Sumire’s drumsticks randomly bounding about on the drum kit. A voice came through on the other end. It was a dignified voice, with a fatherly warmth. The kind of voice that you’d expect to be filtered through a mustache.

Sumire was still too afraid to talk to Tsumugi directly.

“Hello, father?” Sumire said.

The bonds between Sumire, her father and Lady Tsumugi were undeniable. Though the members of Houkago Tea Time had never been invited to the Kotobuki Estate directly, they’d visited two of the smaller private beach houses, and haggled a few guitars down to an unreasonable price with no real loss to the family fortune. Mr. Saito allowed these applications of the family wealth, and Sumire was right there beside him, always watching.

“Sumire, how are your studies going?” said her father’s voice.

“Th-they’re going fine,” she said, “About the concert, at the Budokan... would it be alright if I went? And brought a friend of my own?” I turned my head towards the living room. “I’ve been on the sidelines for so long that I want to participate in something for once, so if you could ask Lady Tsumugi for a pair of tickets, please...”

“Sumire, don’t worry,” said her father, “I received word from milady this morning. A pair of tickets has already been set aside. They’re in the special room reserved for such occasions, if you would-”

Sumire interrupted, a passion in her voice, “I-I would like the tickets to be closer to ground level. Please,” she said “It’s closer to her. Tell milady I said thanks.”

“I will,” said Mr. Saito.

“Yay!” said Sumire, dropping the phone onto the drum kit. A loud thump shot through the room, causing the phone to vibrate. Mr. Saito’s voice became distorted. Sumire was smiling, an aura of pink hearts and bubbles surrounding her, not noticing her father was still talking.

“Milady was going to be in Tokyo that day anyway, because there’s a very important meeting with a fellow company, and I would like you to be there-” Sumire’s hand slid past the phone buttons, ending the call abruptly.

Sumire ran over to me and jumped onto my shoulders. “Lady Tsumugi is the best!” she said, “Nao, you’ll get a chance to see just what the generation before us was capable of! Of course, it has milady, so it figures it would be the best. I was there for her piano lessons, watching her fingers dance gracefully across the keys...”

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, so if you could just, please...” I insisted. It was too late.

I forgot to mention, there’s a reason why I let Sumire cook, and it has nothing to do with her maid credentials. My skills have improved somewhat since I was taken under Sawa’s wing, but when I try to do anything not related to technology...

Sumire caused my elbow to bump against the container of salt, spilling the entire contents into the scrambled eggs I was making. The whisk in my hand slipped, and the pan skidded off the stove. A jet of flame shot up from the stove top before cooling down, and a pile of mushy, salty eggs splatted down beside us, narrowly missing Sumire, but making the floor slippery and salty.

“Nao, leave this to me,” said Sumire.

In this apartment, I’ve been the one on the sidelines.

Over dinner, I began to wonder why Azusa was denying there was such a concert. I’d heard from Sawa that at the end of her second year of high school, she was going through a crisis over what to do when her friends left. To be unaware of something music-related that they were doing was completely unlike her. I’d gotten the same responses when I called up Ui and Jun, which was even stranger. Ui’s sister was there, you’d think she’d be able to say something.  


* * *

Time continued to flow, and before long, Ui and I were waiting at the train station. Other students from around the campus were going with us. Many of them were decked out in shirts and sashes, carrying signs showing which member of the band they were fans of. Sumire asked if she could borrow the bright pink outfits of the Mugi Team, and they gladly lent them to her. Though they were curious why a foreigner was expressing interest in a local Japanese band.

It was a peaceful train ride, taking us through the countryside and through the city streets, people and animals looking at us passing by. Sumire was focused on her Mugi Fan Club goods, the words of her father and lady still on her mind.

I spent a lot of the ride sitting on my knees, looking out towards the sun. Every passing moment was a new area. Within the light music clubs of the schools just beyond the train stations, future musicians like us were sharpening their skills. For some of them, it was their first and only club in their entire school career. I had only gone with the light music club after failing at everything else. Sitting on my knees, looking at others, was where I’d always been.

The train pulled into Tokyo Station. We pushed through the crowds, making our way into the light shining on the damp streets. Sumire grabbed me by the arm and started walking me down the street.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I was thinking of Sawa’s costumes, and there’s place where I’d fit in wearing stuff like this,” said Sumire, turning around to show off her jacket, “we’ve got some time to kill, so let’s go! To Akihabara!”

“Wait, Akiba?” I said.

There was a lot to take in walking around Tokyo. It was a place of business, a place of leisure, and a place to live. My eyes became unfocused, staring off at nothing in particular, so it was only when I heard the click of a camera that I noticed the streets had changed in a not so subtle fashion.

The wares being sold were on display, accentuated by large, bright posters with bold colors. People carrying entire backpacks full of goods were a common sight. Vans drove around speaking not about politics, but about shows that would be debuting at times no person in their right mind would be awake. Sumire marched ahead, her grip on me loosening, as I was taken aside by a girl dressed up like a cat, with ears and paws, shoes that were also paws, and a tail that I was unsure where it was sticking out of.

“Your friend is a fan of Houkago Tea Time?” asked the girl in costume.

“Sort of,” I answered. Sumire was conversing with a group of girls dressed in blue. I remembered seeing people like them back at the train station. The Mio Akiyama Fan Club, they called themselves. “We were actually part of the same clu-”

“I’m surprised you were able to get tickets,” said the girl.

“I have to get back to Sumire. We’ve never been to Akiba before, and...” Sumire had vanished into the crowds. I ran ahead, calling Sumire’s name out in the crowds. People diverted themselves around me. I got a closer look at the stores through the crowds. Akiba was the electronics district as much as it was the center of mania culture.

Sumire hadn’t come here for herself. She’d come here for me. The one thing I excelled at, she wanted me to be inspired by.

I picked up my pace and darted back and forth across the streets again. My shoulder brushed against someone. I turned around. She was a girl who looked like a delinquent. Her hair was bright green, and wild.

“You said you were part of the same club as Hirasawa?” she asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” I answered.

The girl with green hair drew closer to me. She held out her hands like claws, thrusting them towards my face. She grabbed my cheeks. My face flushed bright red, and hers did too. She hastily tucked her hands back into her pockets.

“That’s strange. You don’t seem to be tangled up in anything,” said the girl, “What’s your name, kid?”

“Nao Okuda,” I answered.

“Mai Ueda,” said the girl in the vest, “If you were in that club, you must be able to play an instrument. Are you a guitar? Bass? Accordion?”

She had hit my weak point. My role was appreciated, but from people who didn’t know, I appeared to do as much for the club as Sawa. “I can’t play. I can make music on the computer, though. Remixes, compositions, that sort of thing.”

Mai flexed her arm and gave me a thumbs up. I cocked my head uncertainly.

“Finally, someone else I can count on. You’re involved, but you’re outside the system. Just what I’ve been looking for. Yumeno won’t care if I change the rules a little bit. All’s fair in this game. Okuda, if something happens tomorrow, do whatever you can to give it the best possible outcome,” said Mai.

“I will,” I said to Mai, leaning against a carton of books on a nearby desk. The carton collapsed onto the street. I apologized to the person who had been trying to tell them. When the books were finally back in place, I looked up, trying to find Mai or Sumire. Mai had vanished. Sumire was right there, a wide smile on her face.

“I never knew there were so many fans of Lady Tsumugi. It’s like they’d never heard half of the things I was telling them about her,” said Sumire. The two of us walked towards the edge of Akiba, the sun setting behind us. “They’re such sticklers for sources. She’s like an older sister to me, do I really need to verify these things?”

“Did you?” I asked.

“Well, no. I was afraid if I let out my true identity, milady would have me fired. I have nowhere else to go,” said Sumire.

She continued telling me stories all the way home. She went to prepare dinner, leaving me alone in the room. Sumire returned from the kitchen, two steaming hot cups of tea in her hand.

“Sumire, did you see a person with green hair today?” I asked, stirring sugar into my tea.

“Don’t be silly, nobody has green hair,” said Sumire.  


* * *

The day of the concert was here. We shared the only bed we had in our room that night. Sumire slept soundly, but I stared at the ceiling fan, ruminating on the words of Mai Ueda before falling into a deep sleep. We were woken not by an alarm clock, but by the bedside phone ringing. Sumire picked it up, and mumbled “Good morning” into the receiver.

“Sumire, urgent word from Master Kotobuki,” said her father.

“Dad, it’s seven in the morning, I know where Mugi is,” said Sumire, reaching across the bed and touching my shoulder, stirring me further awake.

“Good, then. A meeting with one of Master Kotobuki’s business partners will be taking place at the Edmont this morning. Get Lady Tsumugi there immediately,” said Mr. Saito.

“They have a concert this morning,” said Sumire, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

“Try to get it in before that. We’re dealing with one of the largest music firms in the world, and punctuality is a must. The Kotobuki family’s future rests in your hands, Sumire,” he said, hanging up.

Sumire turned around and pushed me, burying my head in the pillow. “Nao? Nao? Are you awake?”

“Good morning, Sumire,” I said, “Do you want to go mix with the fans? The concert doesn’t start until this afternoon.”

“Yes, but my father told me otherwise. I’ve never done something like this alone. I want you to go with me,” said Sumire, “Please.”

That same shyness I had seen when I met her in the club room returned. She told me she had been sent to pick up Mugi’s tea set, but the tea set remained where it was, serving another generation of the light music club. She got lucky that time. She didn’t have nearly that much room for error now.

“Sumiire,” I said, rubbing her head, “You’re not alone.”

“Geez, don’t call me that,” said Sumire, puffing her cheeks and pouting.

I was enjoying my breakfast while Sumire followed her orders in the hall. Mugi had to be making her way to the Budokan by now. All the posters and billboards around the city were advertising two bands performing, one of them all the way from Hokkaido. Mugi was probably making small talk with Kitaku Free Time, sharing stories and offering to serve tea.

Sumire returned. “I can’t reach her,” she said, sitting down, “She must be in one of those rooms where there’s no signal.”

“What would Mugi want you to do in this situation?” I asked.

“She’d want me to go in her place,” said Sumire. “It’s probably some type of promotional deal. I think it’s what Mugi would want, anyway. Today’s her day. Let’s let our seniors take their first step onto the stage.”

“Azusa, Ui and Jun are up there too,” I said.

Sumire’s face froze. “Why weren’t we invited? I know they already have a drummer in Tainaka, but Azu-nyan did so much for us. This must have something to do with this Yumeno person.”

“I’ve heard that name somewhere before,” I said. “She’s the one who organized this whole event. We still have tickets to the concert, so even if we can’t support them from behind the scenes, we can cheer them on from the crowds.”

“You’re right,” said Sumire, pouring herself her third cup of tea that morning.  


* * *

We walked towards the Edmont, away from the crowds flocking towards the arena. I looked around for any sign of that Ueda person, but no one’s hair was that bright. We stepped into the hotel, where the clerk pointed us in the direction of the room Kotobuki had reserved. The other name outside the room was written in English.

“Barraud,” I said, leaning down.

Silence. The cleaning lady came by, checking the hotel rooms. She gave me, who was loitering outside the meeting room, a strange look, but continued going about her business. I walked to the front of the hotel. A car came to a halt outside. It was a large limousine of a foreign make. Probably Swiss. Sumire had gone on at length about Switzerland, but neglected any contacts the Kotobuki family might have had there.

A butler opened the door, clearing the way for a young man with dark blond hair and hazel eyes. He had a boyish figure, but his shoulders were broad and his walk casual. His butler approached the desk and spoke with the receptionist.

“Mr. Barraud, welcome,” she greeted him.

“So that’s Barraud,” I said under my breath.

I trailed behind him, standing outside the door of the meeting room. This guy looked only a few years older than Sumire, in his early twenties at best. Anyone involved with Kotobuki would have to be involved in music, but his outfit said he was here for business. I looked closer, and noticed a white rose in his pocket.

The man opened his wallet, and took out a picture of Tsumugi. I’ve seen that picture in Azusa’s yearbook. He held it up to Sumire’s face, and lowered it. His stoic expression had changed to a wide grin.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Tsumu-gi,” he said.

I had to stifle my laughter. He sounded like he was speaking phonetically. The words were correct, but they had such a heavy British accent that his handsome face now appeared almost cartoony. He turned his head, and I slid beyond the window.

“I-I’m not mila-” Sumire stuttered.

“Nonsense. Your picture looks a little darker than you do in public, but your face is as beautiful as the sun. My father told me about you, but we should get to know each other before take the next step, yes?” he said.

“My father didn’t tell me anything about a next step,” said Sumire.

“A Japanese beauty like you and a wealthy man like me, ” said Barraud, drawing and presenting the white rose. “My name is John Barraud. You, Tsumu-gi, are to become... my wife.”


	3. Onna Gumi Chapter #2: Costumes! (恩那組編 #2: 衣装!)

The material was genuine. The intent was genuine. The costume had been designed to fit Sawako’s body type, and no one else. This wasn’t an outfit that Yatsubo had purchased from her after the band dissolved. It had been made from scratch, meticulously recreating its perfections, and its flaws. The leftover fabric from the project sat on the floor of the closet like confetti from a party held long ago, gathering dust alongside the object of desire they had been split apart to make.

“Wait, I’m not getting something,” said Ayame, reaching out her hand to touch the costume.

Yatsubo stepped in front of the closet, his arms outstretched. “No touching. This is meant to be worn by Catherine, and nobody else.”

Ayame sat down on the couch. “Okay, okay, I get it. This is your masterpiece. Why isn’t it outside? If you feel something is your best, display it. You can’t be the only Death Devil fan out there.”

“This dress is my greatest achievement, and my greatest failure,” said Yatsubo. “I had intended to give it to Catherine when she and the band came here for a concert. I was younger then, and full of dreams. My dream was to work for them. They were rebellious, groundbreaking, the finest example of a girls’ band Japan has ever produced.

“After one of their concerts, I walked onto the stage, and presented my costume to Catherine. She turned around and gave me that smile. Such an innocent smile, in contrast with her piercing eyes. I thought that this was my moment. And she told me ‘It’s good, but we already have a costume designer. We’ll look forward to seeing you again!’”

“Ouch,” said Ayame.

“I kept trying, over and over again for ten years. Never once was I accepted into their band. I don’t know what the reason was. My greatest rival and my greatest idol, Catherine. She was the reason I wanted to join, but she was the reason I couldn’t join! It kept going that way for ten years, before I gave up and resigned myself to a life of freelance work. Bands have come and gone, but none have struck me with the same kind of inspiration as you have,” he said. “But I haven’t stopped costuming. I can’t stop. It’s my passion.”

“Excuse me,” said Sachi, “but I think I know why you weren’t accepted.”

“What?” said Yatsubo.

“It is a girls’ band. They all went to high school, like us,” she said, “Trying to make yourself a fifth wheel wouldn’t have worked out. There are things girls just can’t discuss while a guy’s around. Maybe instead of working for one band, you should’ve tried to work for any and every band? I’m sure there’s still a chance.”

“You think I didn’t try that?” said Yatsubo, “I submitted my work to every costuming outlet across Japan, but by that point, standards had changed. I was stuck in the 90s, they said. Everything looked so gritty and hard edged that it would never sell. The closest I’ve gotten is a few offers for some independent films, and those are fodder for the comedy shows! It seems I was born under an unlucky star.”

“What does any of this have to do with us?” asked Akira, “It sounds like a lot of this is your fault.”

“It’s not like I didn’t try to change,” said Yatsubo, “Around the turn of the millennium, that style overtook Japan’s music industry. Moe. So I changed along with it. Brighter colors, softer edges, styles that resembled a school uniform more than a battle outfit. Every artist has his own touch that can’t be erased, and the style remained. It was cute, but when people tried it on, it looked disconcertingly wrong. This isn’t the kind of thing I was meant to make. Even if I tried it now, they’d say I’m too old for this sort of thing. I’d rather keep this outfit locked away. It’s caused me too much trouble.”

Akira reached towards her back and removed her guitar case. She unzipped the black bag, and revealed me from within its chambers. My master clenched her guitar pick between her teeth, reaching up to grab it. She turned my knobs, tuning me for the kind of sound she was going for.

“Maybe what you need is to find a new sound,” said Akira. “Here, give this a listen.”

Akira played one of Onna Gumi’s slower tunes. It was still heavy on the guitar, the melody of the strings overpowering the drums. Without the bass backing it up, it sounded incomplete. After playing a few bars, Akira sang the lyrics a capella. The lyrics were casual, and dotted with slang that Yatsubo didn’t quite understand. Akira heard her voice bounce back at her off the cramped room’s walls. She looked at her own reflection in the mirrored closet door. That expression on her face, had she seen it before?

“Akira, don’t tell me. Are you thinking of Hirasawa?” said Ayame with a grin. “That song sounded more like HTT’s discography than anything you’ve ever done.” She elbowed her affectionately. “And all this time you said her influence wasn’t rubbing off on you.”

“Is this the same Hirasawa that knows Catherine?” asked Yatsubo.

“She was mentored by her,” said Akira.

“Can you tell me where this Hirasawa is? Perhaps I’ll have better lu-” said Yatsubo.

“Like hell I will! You’re a creep. Yui’s far too important a friend. I, I mean, fellow light music club member. It’s in the club charter!” said Akira.

“Akira, you’re so dishonest with yourself,” said Sachi.

Yatsubo reached for the CD collection on his shelf, and took out one of the disks. The paper was creased, and the disk looked like it had been played many times. The CD didn’t even have a label, just a design drawn with marker. It could hardly be called professional. Yatsubo placed it in the boombox beside his desk. His eyes darted back and forth between the speakers and Akira.

“That music. It sounds so familiar. The chords may be hidden beneath otaku pop, but that is the rock music Catherine produced. What kind of person is this Hirasawa? Where is she now?”

“She’s a natural airhead,” said Ayame, “Oversleeps, gorges herself on sweets, and as soon as her sister got to our university, did very little for herself.”

“She treats her guitar like a little brother,” said Akira, strumming her fingers across me furiously, going up and down the scale like mad.

“Akira,” said Sachi, winking at her, “Who’s the one who named her instrument Rosalie?”

My master pouted. She and Yui were a lot alike. In those months between, when she found out from Houkago Tea Time that they had gotten their first big break, she was happy, because Yui was reacting the same way she would. She wished it could’ve been her, but that someone like Yui was able to make it gave her hope that someday she would too. My master broke the news to Yatsubo.

“Hirasa- Yui’s band, Houkago Tea Time, is playing a concert at the Budokan today. Somene named Yumeno picked them up. Not every day you get to see a group make their debut there. You’d think they’d play to the crowds in Akiba or something,” said Akira.

Yatsubo looked at the Death Devil poster on his wall. There was a longing in his eyes. “Why, Catherine? Why must your protege take on the fame you never had? She does not understand the musical legacy she’s throwing away.”

“Look, it’s almost lunchtime,” said Akira, “We’ll get going. If we can think of anything for you to do for us, we’ll call.”  


* * *

We left Yatsubo’s apartment. The door closed, drowning out the sounds of Death Devil’s single in the background. The trio walked back into town, finding a different restaurant to eat at for lunch. Sachi suggested checking out the clubs in the area to see which one would be the best for tonight. After that, a long, awkward silence followed until we had taken our seats at the table.

“You know, I noticed something strange on the other side of his apartment. Threads in every color of the rainbow were coming out of the door. Looks like he’s not just hiding his completed works, but his works in progress too,” said Ayame, “I kinda wanna go back there and see what it was.”

“We need a reason to go back there,” said Sachi.

“Checking out more of his work counts as a reason,” said Ayame.

“He was kinda pitiful,” said Akira, after taking a sip of her drink, “Death Devil broke up years ago. I think one of them is married now, and it’s not like there’s a reunion tour on the way. Why should we let him work for us?”

“Giving him work at all might get him out of his rut,” said Sachi.

“Are we rock enough?” asked Akira, “We don’t even have stage names or a mythology. We’re just a group of girls trying to make music. This guy seems like the kind of person who looks into every song for meaning. That’s not what songs are. Not all the time, at least. Sometimes you just pick lyrics because they flow or because they sound cool. That’s how I named Rosalie.”

“Maybe we should give him another chance,” said Sachi, taking a bite of her hamburger, “So he’s a failed costumer, maybe he has talent elsewhere. It’s never too late to learn to do something new.”

Akira felt another buzz coming from her cell phone. She flipped it open, revealing another message from the shadowy figure called Yumeno. Akira read it aloud. In the back of her mind she was still curious how a person she had never met had her number.

“The paradox of art. The lows create the art most well received, but that reception brings happiness. To live in infamy is to live in fame. Follow the bird to where it flies, and realize that his feather will some day be used as a pen. Masaka Yumeno.

“Geez, she isn’t making this clear at all,” said Akira.

Nine minutes to one. Akira felt a change in the wind. The sky overhead had become cloudier and grayer, tinting much of Nagoya a darker shade of gray. Onna Gumi walked outside, their lunch completed. The air was humid and sticky and warm. The sky was lying to them.

“I don’t remember seeing anything like this on the weather forecast,” said Sachi, “We’d best be careful, Akira. You don’t want Rosalie to stop producing her music, do you?”

“You know, one of these days I’ll give your bass a nickname. Let’s see how you like it,” said Akira through the side of her mouth.

Ayame forced us on a detour through the clubs. Only one of them had an opening for tonight. We walked through the front door, noticing the large pink HMV logo plastered on the back in neon. Posters of the master with various artists were scattered around. He could tell from our looks why we were here.

“Sign up right here, ladies. What would you say your genre is? We’ve got a lot of acts on tonight, so-” Akira had already signed the form. You could still see the ink drying.

“Rock. We’re rock,” she said. “Ayame, Sachi, you too. This is our Budokan!” Akira pumped her fists.

“Budokan?” said the master jovially, “You’re pretty confident, aren’t ya? Get yourselves back here tonight, and show me what you’re made of.”

“You can count on it!” said Akira.  


* * *

A light rain began to fall, creating a sunshower. People were walking faster on our return trip to Yatsubo’s, but our pace remained the same. A breeze of damp cherry blossom petals scattered around the streets. Akira crushed one underfoot, and walked up the steps towards Yatsubo’s apartment.

Perhaps in this weather, it wouldn’t make any difference, but the blinds on his apartment had been shut since the last time we’d been here. Akira pressed the doorbell, letting the chime echo throughout the living room. It echoed again. Off in the distance, there came a roar of thunder, ringing in time with the doorbell.

“Kota Yatsubo!” shouted Akira.

The door slowly creaked open. The silhouette of the designer to the stars could be seen rushing towards the back of his tiny apartment, skittering out of sight like a mouse. Akira, me strapped tightly across her back, walked into the apartment. Spools of thread in many colors were wound out across the floor. Akira stepped lightly, calling out to the lonely apartment.

“Mr. Yatsubo?” she asked, “It’s us.”

“There’s a storm blowing in, so we may have to stay here for a while,” said Ayame.

“Ayame,” said Sachi, elbowing her in the waist.

The lights weren’t turned on, and the blinds were half open. The only source of light was the faint blue-white glow of the computer screen, now showing an open email from someone and a browser opened to Death Devil’s webpage. The thunder continued in the background. The click of a remote was heard, and the speaker began to play “Maddy Candy” at a volume so low it was nearly inaudible.

In the center of the apartment, there was a sight that caused Akira to tense up. The replica of Catherine’s stage outfit was sprawled out across the bed. A loose black thread, shortening the waist of the outfit, went out from the costume’s pant leg and onto the floor. A red thread from the shirt joined it, and the two threads became interwoven, going under the door and into the closed off room.

“I knew there was something under that door,” said Ayame.

“Yatsubo, are you here? We’ve got something for tonight, and you’re the only person we know who can do this, so please, answer,” said Sachi.

“You can’t hide,” said Akira, “You don’t have many places to. We’re coming in, whether you like it or not.” Akira placed her hand on the doorknob leading into Yatsubo’s bedroom. It was still warm. Carefully, Akira turned the knob, and pushed the door back.  


* * *

Yatsubo was nowhere to be seen. The room was covered in complete darkness. Akira could feel more thread underfoot, and jumped back. Lightning flashed outside the tiny apartment, briefly illuminating the room. On the mannequin that had once held the imitation Catherine, the outline of a new dress could be seen against the darkness. Akira barely had time to comprehend it, but she had seen colors. Every color of the rainbow, woven into a patchwork fabric.

Sachi reached for the light switch, and clicked it on. Threads and spools of fabric were covering every corner of the room, wrapping around the dress. The bedroom was a technicolor spider web, ensnaring prey who came in search of a man with a talent. Akira fell to her knees, and saw up close the threads that had carried on from the previous room.

The black thread stopped before it reached the foot of the bed, letting the red thread weave its way through the dress. A turquoise thread and an orange thread, both of equal length, stitched themselves up the body of the dress, but only the orange wrapped around the red thread and became intertwined with it. The red thread abruptly unraveled near the chest; it had become loose before it reached that point.

The pink fabric did not intersect with the others. It had been wrapped around the dress as an ornamental belt. Its pink threads touched every other color, but it did not follow them upward. Blue and yellow thread had been used to create asymmetrical arms. The blue arm was frilly and puffed up, but became smooth once it reunited with the yellow, making up the stitching on the back.

The dress had cuts in various places, making the threads frayed and broken. Bits of the turquoise, red and blue threads hung off the silver blade of a nearby pair of scissors. Light blue and light green spools of thread were on the floor, nowhere near the dress, and not even unwound.

Akira approached it, knowing in the back of her mind that Yatsubo might come out from his hiding place and try to stop her from touching it. That’s what she hoped for. It was the only way she could find him.

The short-haired girl stretched her hand through one of the holes. She felt nothing. There was another flash of lightning, and the rain intensified. Yatsubo, hiding himself underneath the bed, poked his head out, and spoke.

“What do you think?” he said in a hushed voice.

“It’s very well put together,” said Akira, “The threads are all intertwined, and together, they create something that I’d be proud to wear. I can tell you put a lot of yourself into it.” She looked intensely at the dress, and stepped back, taking in its whole form. “However, there’s something off putting about it.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” said Yatsubo.

“It’s ugly,” said Sachi, “I’m sorry to say that, but it is. You put your fears and anxieties into making it, but in a way that leaves them clear and exposed. In a way that exposes whoever wears it too.”

Yatsubo pulled himself out further. “I’d hesitate to call it my masterpiece, but the last person who looked at this wanted to hire me.” Onna Gumi turned around, their eyes perking up. “To design monsters. Is that all I’m good for? I got into this to show the beauty of the human form, but I only end up exposing its dirty parts.”

“What about that Death Devil dress out there?” asked Akira, “You loved that.”

“I had to break apart my past works to create this. It was the best material around I could find. Even then, look at this dress. You like it, but this style? I have others like it, and I’ll make others like it. It doesn’t stand out amongst my works at all,” said Yatsubo.

“It does stand out! That’s your personal touch,” said Ayame.

“You don’t understand,” said Yatsubo, “I did more than break Death Devil’s clothes. It’s far too late now. Not just for me, but for Catherine. Tell me, have you heard of Bubble Angel?”

Lightning broke through the clear sky. The power blinked on and off, but in the dark confines of this room, it made no difference. Onna Gumi had no response. Yatsubo, shaking, slid up onto the bed. His dress hung behind him, blowing back and forth with the ceiling fan. Yatsubo looked around the posters hanging on his ceiling.

“Bubble Angel and Death Devil were rivals. Not so much Death Devil. They were too in love with music to consider anyone anything other than a friend in battle. Bubble Angel’s music was not my kind of thing. It felt too unreal, too manufactured, designed to capture the hearts and minds and wallets of the very people who now keep my bank account full,” he explained.

“Fans can be a tough business,” said Akira, “but sometimes they have good points to make too. Yui and I may have different styles, but we have a lot of overlap. There’s no reason you couldn’t have been a fan of both.”

Yatsubo walked over to the window, navigating the maze of threads like a sleepwalker. The dress had not been disturbed. He pulled open a drawer beside his bed, revealing a notepad and pen. As he continued talking, he sketched out more rough ideas for costumes, ripping off the paper and throwing it to the ground when an idea met his expectations or failed to meet them.

“It turns out Masako Koike, Bubble Angel’s lead singer, had tried to keep her musical career going after her limelight had faded. I had found someone who could understand where I was coming from,” said Yatsubo. “She admired Catherine’s music, and told me she was planning to keep that style alive well into the new century, and vanished for Hokkaido. I didn’t hear from her for years.

“That is, until the start of this year. She had assembled a band in her tenure as a high school teacher, and trained them to be Death Devil’s successors, despite never being in the band herself. Someone called Masaka Yumeno had called her up and offered to bring them to the Budokan. I wasn’t sure how to react, until Koike spoke the truth.”

“Wait, so you knew?” asked Akira.

“Yes. I knew that Catherine had mentored a band closer to her old rivals, defying all my expectations. They were going to the Budokan too. Masako told me what her plan was. There, she had told her girls to crush Catherine’s, to steal their stardom from them and make sure they never get signed. It was the only way she felt we could get back at the world for denying us the fame we so richly deserved. I was with her at first.”

“Until you met us,” said Sachi, picking up one of the drawings he had left on the floor.

The dress in the picture was cute. Genuinely cute. The color key to the right painted it in cooler shades than Sachi had expected. It was a dress out of a fantasy, that would look brillaint contrasted against a cool winter lake. That he had roughly sketched out something so elaborate in only a few minutes surprised her.

“Yes,” said Yatsubo, “Masako had gotten the idea into my head that I was supposed to hate Catherine’s students, but when you played that soulful melody, I couldn’t find it in myself to. Those with talent are people I aspire to be like, and people I aspire to be with. I’m sorry you had to see this ugly sight, girls.”

The phone started ringing. Against the silence of the room, it chilled my master and caused her hair to stand on end. She had these feelings at night, assuaged by the knowledge that Yui Hirasawa was sleeping soundly, comfortably next to her, ready to greet the next day with a smile. She could never admit to it, but I am her instrument. Her heart and soul has been poured into me.

“Excuse me,” said Kota Yatsubo.

He put the phone on speaker. A smug voice came through. It was definitely feminine, and would have sounded cute and alluring had it not been for the words that issued forth. “Yatsubo, you there?”

“Hello, Masako,” said Yatsubo. He mouthed to Onna Gumi, “Be quiet.”

Akira fidgeted on the floor. The only sound she could hear was me rattling around in the case and the sound of her own breathing, and even that sounded like it might be too loud. Ayame and Sachi were at her back. The clap of skin against skin should’ve been barely audible.

“Kota, is someone there? I know you haven’t been seeing anyone. Except at your silly little markets,” she said.

“Our markets, partner,” said Yatsubo, “There’s nobody here. What are you calling for? Today was supposed to be my off day.”

The girls leaned closer.

“The plan was a success. Yamanaka won’t know what hit her. Kitaku Free Time will soar, while her cake and tea club will drop like an anvil!” Yatsubo flinched at those words. Failure was happening to someone that wasn’t him. Yet he wasn’t any closer to success. It was a Pyrrhic victory. “Isn’t this what you desired, Kota? Your dreams are finally coming true,” she said.

“Don’t call me Kota,” said Yatsubo, hanging up the phone.

Akira stopped holding her breath, and slumped back onto the bed. Sachi and Ayame rested at her legs. Yatsubo looked down at his hands. They were trembling. Akira nodded to the others, motioning for them to step back into the living room. Yatsubo looked out the window at the falling rain.

“Catherine... Sawako... What have I done?”


	4. Sumire Chapter #2: Body Double! (菫編 #2: 影武者!)

“Wife?” asked Sumire. “I knew mila- I mean, I, was expecting to get married someday, but right now?”

“Of course,” said John, pulling up his chair and sitting beside her at the table. The table was large. A projector had lowered from the ceiling, with no intent of being used. The vastness of the room was starting to overwhelm Sumire. “The Kotobuki Company and HMV have been looking to make a business deal for some time, but no agreement could be reached. That is, until my father heard that there was a girl about my age. We can merge control of the companies through our marriage.”

Sumire turned her head to the left and gave me a confused look. I remembered what she’d told me on the train ride over. Mr. Kotobuki had been the one who sent his daughter to girls’ schools her entire life. She was such a precious treasure to him that he feared the worst if some boy with no money tried to get his hands on his daughter. The only men Tsumugi had met in her life were either employees or family members.

This had backfired. Rather than being mystified by a man who would be considered her equal, Mugi had grown attracted to women. Sumire, running all of Mugi’s errands for her, had much more experience with men, but a lot less self confidence. I gave her a warning that the coast was clear. Sumire took a deep breath.

“How soon is this wedding going to happen?” asked Sumire. “There are plenty of other projects I’m involved in. I’m sure you’ve heard of the changes taking place in Switzerland that I personally signed off on.”

“Once you graduate from college, Tsumu-gi. At that point, you will be ready to take over your father’s company, so it’s the perfect time, is it not?” asked John. His thick accent was easing Sumire’s tension, not that she could tell him that. “I was told there was going to be more than just you here. My butler is waiting outside in the car if you want to meet him. Do you have any household staff?”

Mugi’s staff was closer than he thought. Sumire started drumming her fingers against the table, nervously laughing. She closed her eyes, hoping to avoid suspicion. “My father trusts me to handle these sorts of things on my own,” she said, enunciating each word carefully, “My maid is out enjoying herself. Besides, Mr. Barraud, I barely know who you are.” Sumire gave out a sigh.

I leaned over the side of the door frame, peeking into the room. Sumire was losing ground, fast. I had to help her. If I did, would this count as sabotage? John heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. I hid behind the large wooden door, my back against the wall, before he could make eye contact with me. This wasn’t the time to break in.

“Don’t be silly, Tsumu-gi,” said John, “I came all the way to Tokyo to meet with my bride to be. What do you say to the two of us going out for a romantic afternoon? Just you, and me and our servants. I wouldn’t want to get married to you without knowing the real Tsumu-gi. Do you accept?”

“The ‘real’ Tsumugi?” asked Sumire, “She’s done, I mean, I’ve done a lot of things that might surprise you.”

“I like being surprised,” said John.

That was good enough. I grabbed the handle of the door and pulled myself around, slamming it shut behind me as I made my entrance into the room. The loud slam of the door and the burst of wind rushing into the room swayed my skirt just a little bit. I adjusted my glasses and caught my breath.

“Surprise,” I said.

“You said you didn’t have anybody here,” said John.

Sumire’s eyes narrowed. Those sharp blue eyes pierced my heart. For the past several days, she’d been dealing with conflicts from Tsumugi, her father and her own ambitions. When I stepped in there, it should have added one more layer of problems, but that was what made it a relief. I was actually there. She could deal with me directly, and didn’t care if John got in the way.

“Nao, you were supposed to be keeping watch,” she said in the loudest hushed voice she could muster.

“So your name is Nao? Pleased to meet you,” said John, standing up and moving his arm across his chest, “I am...”

“I know who you are,” I said.

“So you have heard of the HMV Group?” said John.

I had. They reached across the world, producing and selling music that was some of the best in the business. The Kotobuki Company was powerful, but in this game of business, Barraud was the one holding all the cards.

“It’s pleasure to meet you,” I said, shaking hands.

“Likewise,” said John, laughing heartily, “Oh, Tsumu-gi, I did not know you were on such friendly terms with your servants. You must be a most amazing girl!”

“I’m not her servant, I’m her friend,” I said, momentarily breaking character, “Na-nao Okuda, I’m with the Kotobuki Company. If you want to get to Su... Mugi, you have to close the deal with me first.”

“Negotiation is the best part of business,” said John, “I can promise, Okuda, after today, we will be partners for life.”

“Playboy,” said Sumire.

“I am surrounded by so many beautiful women, it’s only natural,” said John. “Just look at how the both of you are smiling.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was because his Japanese was laughable. The meeting ended after less than an hour. We were to meet John in the center of town for lunch, followed by a walk through the park. Sumire, myself and him walked out of the room together. He said he had something to attend to in the direction of the Budokan, and waved us goodbye. He strolled off into the horizon, standing above and out of the crowds all the while.

I removed my glasses, rubbing them with the edge of my shirt. Then I slid them into my pocket, and grabbed Sumire by the shoulders. I stared straight at her, my forehead shining in the afternoon sunlight. “Sumiire,” I said, “What are you doing? Our entire day has been sidetracked because of you.”

“My duty as a fan to Lady Tsumugi is important,” said Sumire, “but my duty as her maid comes first. If I can’t get in touch with her, then I must become her. I simply can’t allow her to marry without informing me of it first.”

“You were informed of it first,” I said, the tension suddenly dropping from my voice.

“It’s only one date. The concert hall’s within the area, so it’s not like we’re losing much,” said Sumire, “Besides, Nao, you enjoy trying out new things. If you’re willing to play along, maybe I really could get you a job with the Kotobuki Company. I have connections...” she said.

“You also have the only key to our hotel room,” I said, “You’re going to get me to do this whether I like it or not. Maybe you have picked up some things from Mugi.”

Sumire broke herself free from my shoulders and smiled at me. Her eyes were sparkling, and bubbles were floating around her head. “Really? That’s perfect. She’s the absolute ideal of a woman. Looks like I don’t need to do that much work if I’m going to be her.”

“There is one thing you need to do,” I said, “Look up.”

Sumire cast her gaze in the direction of the sky. I held out my palm and slapped her on the forehead. A small lump appeared in the middle of her hair. Her smile had not faded.

“I meant your eyebrows,” I said.

“Oh, right, those,” said Sumire.  


* * *

Time was running out until our date. We returned to our apartment. Sumire’s Mugi Fan Club clothes were still laid out across the table. She grabbed the jacket and rubbed the soft fabric against her face. I changed into a spare maid outfit Sumire had bought for reasons unknown, and called out to her. Sumire came to her senses and ran into the bathroom, a pile of clothes under her arm.

She stepped out wearing a frilly pink dress that drew attention towards her face. A hair scrunchie, adorned with a circular ornament. A treble clef had been embossed inside the diameter of the circle. Her posture was poised and elegant, showing grace without superiority, her facial expressions doing the speaking for her.

She was still missing the eyebrows.

“I crafted these out of fabric and fake hair,” said Sumire, revealing something stuck to her thumbs. Two fake eyebrows, the same shape, size and bushiness as Mugi’s, were stuck to the back of her thumbs with the same kind of adhesive used on a bandage.

“How did you... So quickly...” I said.

“I may not be blue blood, but I am not untalented,” said Sumire.

She stood in front of the mirror. The adhesive rubbed against her skin. She winced a little bit as the false eyebrow was applied over her real one. Once both of them were on, Sumire bowed.

“Nice to meet you. So, how do I look?” she said.

“Close enough,” I answered, “Sumire, if anything happens with this guy, I will be there to help you. I’m not sure I’ve ever said it, but after all these years, you feel like a sister to me.”

Sumire hugged me back. “Thanks, Nao. Those feelings are returned.”  


* * *

Alice in Labyrinth was John’s restaurant of choice. It was dimly lit, even in the middle of the afternoon, and had a dim atmosphere reflecting the Wonderland we had been told of when we were young. Sumire’s maid outfit looked completely out of place here. The aesthetics of the Kotobuki household’s maids clashed with the mostly light blue outfits worn by the waitresses here. Perhaps the presence of what they thought was a Kotobuki made them pay me no mind.

We were welcomed into the Mad Tea Party room, where giant teacups were dotted around the landscape, with the feeling that a dormouse could jump out of them at any moment.

John didn’t see us come in. He had arrived early, taking up a call on his cell phone in the meanwhile. Sumire sat down and pursued the menu, trying to ignore the giant teacups. That was the thing that had started her down this path in the first place. If Mugi hadn’t left her tea set back in the club room, if Sumire had not gone to get them, her high school life, and my own, would be very different.

“Valiant, have you found that new sound we’re looking for?” he said, talking into his cell phone in his native English. I could understand most of what he was saying. “I know this is about the marriage thing, but as long as we’re here, there might be someone with talent. Japan’s music could be very profitable for us.

“Yes, I’m aware there’s a concert going on today. Both of the bands have already been signed. Besides, both of them are girl groups, we don’t know what chance they’ll have overseas. The world may not be ready for a group called Afterschool Tea Time yet,” he said.

Sumire held her menu up to her face, hiding her glare.

“Call me back,” said John, hanging up. In the audience of his fiancee, he put on the mask of a foreigner once more, speaking with the wrong syllable on every word. “Tsumu-gi, have you decided on your drinks yet?”

I suppressed my laughter from behind one of the pillars. The couple sitting at the table beside these two mistook me for one of the waitresses, and asked for a refill on their drinks. Without thinking, I went back to the kitchen. I mapped out my path in my head, making sure I passed by Sumire’s table as many times as possible.

“Just a minute,” said Sumire nervously. “You’re so young and you’re already here on business?”

“I am like you, Tsumu-gi,” he said, “My father is not certain if I am responsible enough, and I am basically closing deals he’s already made. He calls it training. Even if I am joining the family business, I have to start at the lowest rung.”

“The lowest rung...” said Sumire, “Even that is far above what the average person would consider ‘low’. Did you know that I’ve worked in the fast food industry?” Sumire was treading lightly. She was like Barraud in that regard, not knowing anything beyond “maid”, and maid to a high class family at that. Mugi had gone higher than her and lower than her. If this conversation kept up, she might find herself becoming attracted to this man.

“You mean like promotions?” asked John, “Max Burger wanted to use one of our bands to sell their food, and also let us give away free concert tickets. It was a tough deal. I suppose tie ins like this are much more common in Japan?”

“No, that’s... that’s not it,” said Sumire, her face sweating with contradictions. “I’ve worked in the fast food industry. As a service worker. You can’t understand the common people if you don’t get closer to them. It was intense, and the fryer was hot, but it left me feeling satisfied. That was money that I earned.”

“I’m surprised,” said John, “If I was in your position, I’d use my father’s name to get discounts on instruments, let people onto my private property so they can practice in peace, take over a family studio for free. If you have wealth, what’s the problem with using it?”

Sumire fell silent again. She stirred her spoon in her tea, trying to come up with a suitable response. After a minute of awkward silence, she softly spoke to John. “Wealth cannot buy musical talent. Even if my friends hadn’t been able to do things like that, we’d have still found a way.”

I arrived back at the table with their drinks. Sumire clamped her mouth down on the straw and took in a large gulp of tea, surprising John. I took their orders, and passed the note off to someone else. I hid behind one of the pillars, getting some strange looks from people sitting at the table behind me.

“There is a lot I don’t know about you, Tsumu-gi,” said John, “The Kotobuki family primarily works in the selling of musical instruments?”

“Yes,” said Sumire.

“Do you play any instruments? I have heard that Japanese beauties are trained in some form of music from the time they are very young. I would love for you to play a song for me,” said John, drawing out the white rose from his pocket and placing it on the center of the table.

“I play the drums,” said Sumire, “They’re very relaxing. I thought they’d be uncultured, but playing them is really fun.” That wasn’t it at all. I ran up to the table and slammed a basket of bread and butter in the middle of the table. I turned towards Sumire and whispered into her ear.

“You play the drums. Mugi plays the keyboard. Let’s try that again,” I said, looking up. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Did I say drums?” said Sumire, holding her hand to her mouth, imitating a rich girl’s laughter, “I meant keyboard. Yes, keyboard. Mila- I am an expert at it. I’ve won a few competitions doing that.”

“That makes more sense,” said John, “I didn’t know you played the drums as well. You’re such a well rounded young lady.”

“Keyboard with drums on the side. You can do a lot of things when you have the time,” said Sumire, wiping the sweat off her brow. She had barely made it out of that one intact.

One of the wait staff approached me, and wondered why I wasn’t back in the kitchen. I was halfway back when I slid underneath the table and started crawling along, picking up dropped utensils along the way. A maid outfit isn’t the easiest thing to sneak around in. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the kitchen. I simply don’t know my own strength.

Though the frills of my dress were sticking out, I was now two tables away from Sumire and John, and had a clear line to their conversation. It helped that the table I was hiding under was empty.

“Your eyebrows,” said John, gazing directly into and then directly above Sumire’s eyes.

Sumire panicked. The lights of the restaurant were bright, and the air conditoning was running on cold. With all the sweating Sumire had been doing, she was certain her false eyebrows were starting to fall off. She quickly brushed her hands across her brow, trying to make it look like she was styling herself.

“What about my eyebrows?” asked Sumire.

“They’re beautiful,” said John, “There’s so much hair up there, I would love to run my fingers through it. I wonder if the rest of your hair is as bushy and gold as those two little caterpillars you have running across your head.” He said with a sly wink.

“Yu-yui always told me they’re more like pickled radishes,” said Sumire, her face turning bright red.

“That reminds me, where is our food?” said John, “That waitress came by here a long time ago, you’d think she’d have it by now.”

I felt a kick on the back of my leg. The waitress who I had passed off the order to had returned with the two plates of food for their table. She gave me a stern look, and left the plates on the table I had been hiding under. It was a short walk, I could make it. I took slow and careful steps, sliding John’s plate in front of him. Sumire’s meal almost fell out of my hands, but she grabbed onto the plate just in time, and gave me a quick nod.

“Thank you,” said Sumire.

“Do not mind me, I’m new here,” I said.

The food at this place was casual French and Italian. As such, it had exquisite presentation and small amount of actual food. John started eating right away. Sumire wondered if she had ordered the wrong thing. She may look like a foreigner, but she’d spent her entire life in Japan.

Sumire stabbed her fork into her plate, twirling around the pasta. The background noise of the other diners rose in volume. John had already eaten a good portion of his meal. He wiped the edges of his mouth with his napkin. He stretched his hand across the table and dabbed it on Sumire’s mouth, taking in some of the tea she had hastily gulped down earlier.

Sumire swallowed her pasta. The restaurant looked like it had spent more money on aesthetics than chefs, but the taste was decent. Slightly above average, and a little heavy on the oil and sauce, but it wouldn’t leave her stomach feeling bad. Memories of cooking exotic dishes for Mugi were coming back to her.

“Are you liking it?” asked John.

“The food’s a lot like the usual. It’s a familiar atmosphere,” said Sumire, “Even with the design.”

“Elegant Gothic Lolita,” said John, “It’s a European style that emphasizes a hidden femininity beneath lace and frills. You’d know a lot about that. When I look into your bright eyes, I see a perfect marriage of Western and Eastern sensibilities. That will not be the only thing that is married, of course.”

Sumire twirled a large amount of pasta around her fork. She could see the oil dripping from the noodles, John’s face briefly warped through the golden coating. Sumire looked like she was starting to crack under pressure. “Aaaah...” she said. I wasn’t sure what word she was trying to get out.

John opened his mouth and placed his elbows on the table. He bent forward, the straw of his drink brushing against his chin. “You wish to feed me, Tsumu-gi?” he said, “This feels like an actual date now. Let’s eat.”

Sumire thrust the pasta-covered fork into his mouth and stood up, shaking the table. She turned to John and said, “I... I need to go use the bathroom! Excuse me!”

She ran past the other customers, grabbing me by my hand. We turned the corner and entered into the ladies’ toilet. Sumire locked herself in a stall. I heard a flushing sound. She joined me by the sinks, panting. Her hair had gone wild from running.

“I don’t know if I can keep this up,” Sumire said.

“There’s been a few slips, but you’re not doing bad,” I said, “You play Mugi a lot better than I could.”

“This is turning out worse than I thought,” said Sumire.

“Is it the giant teacups?” I asked.

“It’s Barraud!” said Sumire, splashing cold water on her face. She shook her head like a dog, getting some of the water on my shoulder. “I was expecting to hate him. The problem is that he’s so nice. How can I dislike someone who’s only thinking of me? Even worse, I think he’s a better fit for me than he is for Lady Tsumugi.”

“He kinda thinks you are Mugi,” I said, handing her a towel.

“Thank you,” said Sumire, “I might be falling for him.” She wiped her face, and looked in the mirror with a newfound purpose. “That’s not what I’m here for. My dedication is to Lady Tsumugi above all else, only her. I’ve let him reach my heart. Maybe it’s time I opened up his.”

“Fight, Sumiire,” I said, “I didn’t know there was this side to you.”

“I need to buy some time. Nao, order a parfait for myself and Barraud. I’ll pay you a good tip,” said Sumire.

Sumire slammed the bathroom door and ran out, returning to her table. I stood there, the water-splattered mirror reflecting my image. “I don’t even work here!” I shouted.

I walked back from the kitchen, carrying the tray of freshly chilled desserts. Sumire had finished all of her meal. Neither of the two was saying anything. I placed the tray down on a nearby table.

“Here you go, two nonstop strawberry parfaits,” I said. “One for the lady.” I placed it in front of Sumire. “And one for you... whoa!” John stretched out his hand towards my arm, striking me in the elbow. My grip on the strawberry parfait, covered in condensation, loosened, and the glass fell to the floor, shattering and spilling its creamy contents.

“Don’t worry,” said John, “I’ve heard in Japan sharing a parfait is something that lovers do. One will be fine for Tsumu-gi and I.” He reached into his wallet and produced a 5,000 yen bill. “My mistake.”

I accepted the money and started cleaning up the mess. I could see Sumire’s hand shaking, clutching the napkin on her lap. Her maid instincts were kicking in. I was holding in my laughter once more. Whether it was out of nervousness or because of John’s accent, I wasn’t sure.

“Why did you choose here?” asked Sumire, taking a bite of the parfait.

“I like the atmosphere of this place,” said John, “This is the kind of food we’ll be eating all the time.”

“Pardon?” asked Sumire, swallowing her parfait.

“Didn’t your father tell you? Once you get married, you’ll be on the international stage. You and I will live in London, mingling with the stars and the highest ranked companies. It’s still an island, so it’ll be just like home. It’s a bit rainy, but that will give us more time to spend with each other.”

Sumire’s voice lost all its passion from moments ago. “Milady has friends here. Close ones. Moving half a world away...”

“Tsumu-gi,” John said, “What do you think of having children?”


	5. Onna Gumi Chapter Final Chapter: Inspiration! (恩那組編 最終章: 啓発!)

The weather was already starting to clear up. The sun cast its light through the window of the apartment complex, brightening Kota Yatsubo’s tiny bedroom. Sachi opened the blinds and pulled back the curtains. Yatsubo moved his hands up to his eyes. My master thought he was adjusting to the room’s new brightness. He knew that it was what that brightness revealed.

Every rip in the multicolored dress was showing clearly. The spider web-like maze of threads now hung limply, and the ceiling fan slowly ground to a halt. Yatsubo looked back into the living room, seeing the dress Yamanaka had worn flopped over the edge of the bed, wrinkled and unraveled.

“So this is what it ends up as,” he said, tying the thread back into its spools, opening his dresser drawer, “Thread that will never lead anywhere, never be stitched into anything. I should’ve known aligning myself with the otaku crowd would end badly. It hurts you and the ones you love.”

“The concert hasn’t actually started yet,” said Sachi, looking at her cell phone’s clock, “Until it ends, anything can happen. Houkago Tea Time already has a lot of fans. That’s what got them there in the first place. Yamanaka cares about her students. Even if tonight wasn’t a success, she’d still support them.”

“You don’t understand!” said Yatsubo, arranging his thread spools like a color wheel, “Koike wanted a set of themed costumes for her group’s performance. She turned to me. That was the biggest commission I’d ever received. I didn’t know she planned to use it for that purpose. I’m an accomplice now. For the downfall of the next generation of musicians trained by my idol. I’ll never be able to look at myself in the mirror now.”

Ayame raised her hand, a drum stick clasped tight in her palm, and grabbed Yatsubo’s attention. “What about us? We came back for you, you know. All artists are a little crazy. Just look at Akira.”

“Ayame,” Akira said, giving her a sharp glare.

“We’re still looking for an artist and you’re still looking for a client. We’re not leaving yet. Onna Gumi and friends of Onna Gumi never leave each others’ side!” said Ayame.

“You’re starting to sound like Hirasawa now too,” said Akira jokingly.

“I’m a third rate artist who’s way past his prime,” said Yatsubo, “I’d be lucky if I was a sellout, but I can’t even do that. You should go find someone who will treat you with the care you deserve. Go on. Get out. I’ll be waiting for the door to slam, and that will be the end of that. Forgot you ever knew me.”

Akira stood up. Her eyes were closed. She walked over to Yatsubo and extended her arm, grabbing him forcefully by the collar of his shirt. She brought him down to her eye level and took a deep breath. The only sounds that could be heard in the room were the beats of her and Yatsubo’s heart.

“Third rate artist? Do you not see that dress, right in front of you? I was scared out of my mind when I got here, but I still found it in my heart to praise you. Not out of pity, but praise. Genuine praise. Even when you’re imitating something, it still has a style that’s yours. Artists try for years to find what they’re good at. We’re still trying. You’ve already found it, and you’re completely ignoring it. That’s not modesty. That’s ignorance,” said Akira, finally letting loose. She loosened her grip.

“People have tried to tell me it’s good, but nobody wants to buy anything,” said Yatsubo, “I’m never going to find mainstream success. Not now. People aren’t interested in depressing things. People would only be seen wearing my clothes in the seedy areas of downtown. That’s all they’re worth.”

“If you’ve never been given a chance, how would you know?” asked Ayame. “You don’t have to go mainstream if you want to find success.”

“Having a small but dedicated group of people who like your clothes would be nice too,” said Sachi, “It’s like a family or a club. Or a band.”

“What if I do something wrong? If I lose that small amount of people, I’ll lose my comfortable life,” said Yatsubo, backing away into the bathroom.

“That’s what taking risks is,” said Akira, “There’s already a group of people out there who like your work. Us. It could probably be a little more pumped up, but your style and ours have something in common. They’re powerful. People are going to be remembering your works long after they’ve been released. You wanted to work with us, and now we want to work with you. This is the chance of a lifetime. You can say you were there before we were famous, and that you helped us get there.”

Kota Yatsubo looked up and down at my master’s body. “You’re a stubborn tomboy. Are you telling me you’d want to wear that dress?”

“Just because I don’t look like a girl doesn’t mean I can’t be feminine!” said Akira, “I... I named my guitar Rosalie. I like to look cute sometimes. I’d wear that dress by my own choice. I’ll even wear it tonight. Get a hold of yourself! Start being the artist you always wanted to be! You’re the only one who can do that.”

Akira let Yatsubo down. His body was still shaking. He went back into the living room, pouring himself a cold drink. Outside, the chirping of birds came through, forming a serendipitous melody.

“Maybe you were too hard on him, Akira,” said Ayame.

“You’re right,” said Akira, brushing her finger past her earring, “We need to practice anyway. Let’s leave.”

The girls made it out into the living room, and were almost to the entrance hallway when Yatsubo stopped them. Fabric was underneath his arms, and a needle, already threaded, was held between his fingers.

“Where are you going?” asked Yatsubo.

“To practice?” said Ayame.

“I can’t get anything done if I don’t have my equipment,” said Yatsubo, “Time’s wasting. I need to get you ready for tonight.”

Sachi and Ayame smiled. Akira hesitated at first, but once Ayame slapped her on the back, her expression changed into a small grin.

Akira wasn’t going back on her word. She was going to wear that hodgepodge dress. With the state it was in, some repairs were going to be needed. Akira reached into her guitar case, producing a felt version of Onna Gumi’s symbol. “I’d been meaning to use these for a while, but nothing really fit,” said Akira.

“This will stand out. The colors are a lot darker,” said Yatsubo, “You sure you want to go with this?”

“Yes,” said Akira, giving a thumbs up.

One of the patches was sewn over the shoulder. Another was sewn over the right side of the waist. The last one was applied to the bottom of the dress. Akira looked over Yatsubo’s work. The asymmetry with the shoulders was clear. She placed her hand on the center of the patch and traced a curved line across the top of the dress.

“I was thinking we could add a sash here. It would make look like a warrior,” said Akira.

Yatsubo reached into his closet and produced a long roll of black fabric and a pair of scissors. He started cutting, checking back with Akira to make sure the sash would wrap nicely around her body. With a leisurely pace and needlepoint precision, the black wrapped around the dress, contrasting the other colors, but ultimately finding itself complementing them all.

“I want to get in on this,” said Ayame.

Ayame extended her hand out to catch a ruler that Yatsubo had already prepared. Sachi carefully checked Ayame’s three sizes, writing them down on a piece of paper with a crude sketch of the human form. Yatsubo walked into his closet and found a white bowler hat with a thick gray stripe just above the brim.

“Is this part of the outfit?” asked Ayame.

“Your hairstyle would look good with a hat, it makes you look stylish,” said Yatsubo.

Ayame flipped the hat onto her head and looked at herself in a nearby mirror. She pushed the hat downward. “Awesome!” she exclaimed.

“I’m thinking of going for a sun dress with lots of white and gray,” said Yatsubo. “It says that you’re wild, but not without a method to it. Give me a minute.” Yatsubo opened the door to the living room. “I’m going to need more space for this.”

He opened one of the drawers beneath his television, revealing a sewing machine made at least a decade ago. The paint had begun to chip, but as soon as Yatsubo put the fabric inside of it, it started running like it was brand new. “I’ve been doing maitenance on it. I don’t want to get rusty,” said Yatsubo.

Ayame saw a roll of fabric the length of half the room spread out. Yatsubo carefully traced the shape of the dress into it, and started cutting. Yatsubo added another band of gray around the waist of the dress, and added a similar design going up the center of the chest. He held it up against Ayame like a painter creating a portrait. The clock ticked as the sun continued to set across the horizon. Time had vanished into the background for the master artist. All there was in this apartment was his craft and he.

“What’s your name?” he said, looking up to the bassist.

“Sachi Hayashi,” she said.

“For you, I’m thinking something a little longer in the sleeves and waist. A belt would look nice with it too. Shades of blue, mostly light blue, would work. It would stand against the color of your hair and eyes.”

“You can tell all that just by looking at me?” asked Sachi.

“An artist has to be observant. The world inspires art, which inspires the world,” said Yatsubo, “and my canvas is people. It would be harder not to find inspiration.”

“Leave the measurements to me,” said Ayame, stretching out the measuring tape and wrapping it around Sachi. Yatsubo went back to get more fabric, and repeated the process. Now that he’d already gotten one outfit of his system, the second one was finished with even greater efficiency.

“I’ll step outside,” said Yatsubo, after grabbing a drink can from his fridge.

“Running away again?” asked Akira.

“You girls need to change in peace. I’ll be back in a few,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Sachi was the first into her dress. She felt like a new person. If she were to sing a song in this outfit, the world would instantly associate it and the song thereafter. Ayame was next. She placed her hat on a nearby chair, tapping on it with her drum sticks. The sound of wood against wood doinked across the apartment.

“It’s a hi-hat!” said Ayame.

Sachi smiled, laughing politely.

“Come on out, Akira!” shouted Ayame.

Akira walked out slowly. This was the most feminine her bandmates had ever seen her look. Some loose threads were still sticking out of the dress. Akira looked at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t believe her own expression.

“I look like a peacock,” she said.

“You look cute,” said Ayame.

“It suits you,” said Sachi.

“It’s only for tonight. I wouldn’t want to let down our new partner. Don’t let Houkago Tea Time hear anything about this. This is just between us...” said Akira.

“...and all the people in the audience tonight,” said Ayame.

Yatsubo walked back in. By now, my master had strapped me to her back, and Sachi had done likewise. We looked like we were ready for a road trip, not a dance. That was our style. Yatsubo held up his fingers like a frame. “It’s beautiful. The unity of color, of theme, like a prism before my eyes. What was your band’s name again?”

“Onna Gumi!” the three said in unison.

Akira’s cell phone started buzzing on a nearby table. She picked it up and saw that the call was from Masaka Yumeno. This was the first time Akira heard her voice. It was barely above a whisper, with the volume making it audible, with a lot of static in the background. “Who are you?” asked Akira.

“Someone who sees potential,” said the voice on the other end, “Are you three going to any other performances tonight?”

“We have one in a few minutes,” said Akira, “Just got some new outfits too.”

“Purchased or made?” asked Yumeno.

“The second one,” said Akira, “He’s right here if you want to talk to him.” She removed the phone from her ear and placed her hand over the speaker. “Hey, Yatsubo, it’s for you.”

“Not just yet,” said Yumeno, “Hayashi, Yoshida, can one of you send me a photo? We like having all of our up and coming artists on hand.”

“Hey, Yatsubo,” said Ayame, handing over her phone. Yatsubo put down his drink and randomly clicked around the phone until he found himself at the camera. Ayame and Sachi grabbed Akira’s arms and made a V sign with their free hand. Akira, still in mid conversation, was left with a flustered expression on her face. The cell’s camera clicked.

“I think that’s the first picture we have where you don’t look angry,” said Sachi.

“You’re not a bad photographer either,” said Ayame in Yatsubo’s direction. She sent the picture ahead to Yumeno.

“A little rough, but for something made in one afternoon, it’s not bad,” said Yumeno, “I would like to speak with the designer of these outfits, Miss Wada.”

“Okay,” said Akira uncertainly, handing over the phone to Yatsubo. He placed the phone up to his ear, listening for the whispering voice. The only thing coming out of the phone was dead air. There was the sound of another person being added to the line. Yatsubo turned on the speaker.

“Hello, who is this?” asked the third voice.

This was the first time my master and her friends had seen Yatsubo actually look happy. The person he was talking to on the other end never considered herself a celebrity, just an artist. How Miss Yumeno had gotten a direct line to her, nobody was certain. The faint sounds of a guitar playing in the background could be heard over the phone.

“Kota Yatsubo, costume designer,” he said, almost tripping over his words, “Are you... Catherine?”

“Nobody’s called me that in years,” she said with a slight tinge of embarrassed laughter, “I’m just a high school teacher. Yamanaka’s fine. Did you make these costumes? They’re cute. My students would love something like this. As long as they don’t try to put me in it.”

“You like my work? Re-really?” asked Yatsubo.

“The one in the middle is the best. The other two aren’t bad either, even if they were quickly made. If you can produce something like that under a deadline, you could do this professionally. It’ll always be a hobby for me,” said Sawako.

“Professionally...” said Yatsubo, lingering on the sound of that word. “Thank you, Yumeno.”

“Who are those girls in the picture?” asked Sawako.

“Onna Gumi. They were performing here today, and a lot of things happened,” said Yatsubo.

“I’ve heard that name somewhere before,” said Sawako, “It sounds like what Ritsu would name a band.”

“Ritsu?” asked Ayame, “As in Ritsu Tainaka?”

“That’s the one,” said Sawako, “She was a great club president. Oh, you girls know her?”

“We went to college with her. With all of them, actually,” said Ayame.

“Yui’s told me all about you,” said Sawako, “It was a pleasure meeting you. You, too, Yatsubo. It’s great to see the next generation of musicians rising to stardom. Send me something from the concert!”

“Wait, we don’t even know your-” said Akira, Sawako’s phone cutting out of the conversation. “Yatsubo, are you there? You’re kind of spacing out.”

“I’m part of the next generation? Catherine...” he stopped, seeing Sachi giving him a questioning stare, “...I mean, Yamanaka, was so nice. Koike can do whatever she wants, I know who I want to be with. Thank you, Yumeno. I feel like a first rate artist now.” Yumeno had already hung up.

There are many kinds of silence. The four gathered in this apartment in Nagoya, far away from the mainstream music world, were wrapped in the a silence full of affirmation. Traces of hard work were still littered around the apartment. Friends were at their side. Akira walked over to the window, and looked at the row of cherry trees blooming bright pink alongside the street.

“I thought that yukata was embarrassing,” said Akira, “I’d much rather be seen in that than this rainbow-colored thing. It feels kind of heavy. As long as we’re living in this moment, I’ll go with it. Maybe someday we can do things like this back home.”

“Street performers!” said Ayame, leaning over the edge of the window, catching a falling cherry blossom petal in her hair.

“That sounds like fun,” said Sachi. “How much longer do we have until the club opens?”

Akira checked her watch. “Two hours? That’s hardly enough time. Sachi, Ayame, come with me. We’ve got some practice to do.” Akira picked up my bag and slung me across her back. The trio approached the front of Yatsubo’s apartment. The designer ran towards us.

“You said something about a club? Can you tell me where it is? This will be my first time going somewhere in years,” he said.

“It’s Club Quattro,” said Akira. “We’ll be looking for you in the seats.” She extended her hand for a firm handshake. “Thanks for all the help.”  


* * *

It felt good to be taken out of my case again. Before the night arrived, we got a call from Yui in Tokyo. She told us about how Kitaku Free Time had a guitar that reminded her of me. The rest of the band chimed in as well. We didn’t hear from Tsumugi until near the end of the call, with Ritsu explaining that she had something to do for her father’s business. Their time to take to the stage was drawing near, and so was ours.

I never thought I’d be happy to talk to Gitah’s master again.  


* * *

The streets of Nagoya at night were beautiful. The streetlights popped on one by one, illuminating the buildings and the cherry blossom trees. The people had changed. They were younger, more wildly dressed, many of them holding each other arm in arm. We approached the front of the club. Akira opened the door, dodging someone running out wildly into the streets, cheering at the top of his lungs.

“Who are they?” asked voices from around the club.

“Those outfits are so bright,” said another.

Akira approached the man near the front of the bar, who almost didn’t recognize her. “That’s a pretty fancy look for this place. You think you’ll be able to pull it off?” he said.

“This crowd doesn’t know what’s coming,” said Akira.

Until showtime came, and there was still another hour until it did, they were regular bar patron. A woman led the band backstage, letting me and Sachi’s bass rest comfortably up against the wall. Onna Gumi sat down and prepared themselves a strong cup of tea. Listening to Tsumugi had reminded them of luxuries like that.

“This is it. Anybody nervous?” asked Akira.

“Besides yourself?” said Ayame.

“Of course I’m nervous. Why shouldn’t I be? This is a major gig. In front of lots of rowdy people. We can’t afford to make any mista-” Sachi grabbed onto Akira’s hand and brought it down to her waist.

“The other bands are just as nervous as us. We can be nervous together. This reminds me of a story Mio told me,” said Sachi.

“It always comes back to Hirasawa,” said Akira. “That girl’s got a lot more influence than even she’s aware of.”

“Houkago Tea Time performed in a club like this at a much younger age than us. Even if we don’t get signed tonight, it’s still an experience that will lead us towards the future,” said Sachi.

They walked back out into the club. Kota Yatsubo, dressed in a brightly colored T-shirt and jeans, a glowstick in his hand, called out to them. Akira pushed her way through the crowds. Yatsubo was laughing joyously, waving and greeting everyone that passed him by.

“Are you drunk?” asked Akira.

“Drunk? I don’t need to get drunk to enjoy this. The atmosphere is incredible. I need to do this more often. What do cute girls like you say to going out to karaoke after this?” he looked towards the stage, raising his glow stick in tune with the beat.

“I don’t think you need us anymore,” said Sachi.

“Karaoke does sound pretty fun. Can we do that tomorrow, Akira?” asked Ayame.

“I’ll think about it,” said Akira.

Onna Gumi weren’t the only ones who stood out amongst the club goers that night. There was a man dressed in a tuxedo, with a thin mustache. Sachi passed by him quickly, only catching a part of his conversation.

“Master Barraud, I am at one of those clubs you asked me to visit,” he said, “Tell me what you think of this sound.” He held his phone up to the stage. “I see. Then I will continue searching.”

Onna Gumi returned backstage, getting their instruments ready. Akira and Sachi their instruments, and Ayame checked the tightness of her drums. Akira looked at herself in the mirror. “Showtime,” she said.

“We need something to remember this night,” said Sachi, holding out her cell phone. “Everybody, smile!” The camera clicked.

There was very little background in the picture, most of the frame being taken up by its three subjects. The poses were slack and candid, and the instruments could be seen reflected in the mirror.

Sachi mailed the snapshot to Yui and the others. We got a brief message in return. “Do your best!”

Out on the club floor, the noise had quieted down. The emcee walked onto the stage. “That was great! We’re just getting started. You may have seen this next group at the flower viewing this morning. That was just a taste of what they can do. All the way from N. Women’s College, give a warm welcome to Onna Gumi!”

The crowd started applauding. Ayame took her seat behind the drum kit. Akira and Ayame stood side by side, exchanging glances at each other. Some of it had to be because of me. A black guitar, a Les Paul at that, against something that looked neither comfortable to wear or play in. I am an extension of my master. I trust that she knows what she’s doing. The crowd was silent, except for Yatsubo and his clapping. Akira took a deep breath.

“It’s really great to be here,” said Akira, “Nagoya’s an amazing city. There are some really creative people. You look like you’re ready for some fun, so let’s get this started. One two three four!”

The lights focused onto the stage. Akira started off with a medium paced tune, one where guitar and bass were in equal prominence. Her singing voice blasted through the speakers, echoing towards the back of the floor. Valiant, the man in the suit, held up his phone to the stage once more.

“You like this sound, Master Barraud?” he said, “They’re a wild bunch of youngsters.”

Yatsubo was clapping his hands in tune with the beat. He could be heard whispering to himself, “That sound is all their own.”

The song drew to a close. Applause and cheers filled the air. Sweat was rolling down the faces of all three members of the band. There was an entire album’s worth of songs left to play.

Fame, like cherry blossoms, is fleeting. For tonight, we were in full bloom!


	6. Sumire Chapter Final Chapter: Loyalty! (菫編 最終章: 忠義!)

After collecting my tip, I changed out of the maid outfit and into something a little better suited for tailing someone. John escorted Sumire towards a nearby park, hoping to visit a shrine before he returned to his other business. The weather was clear, and the streets were filled with people.

Sumire hadn’t spoken since she left the restaurant. She’d nodded and waved towards the staff, but her mind was racing with thoughts after John dropped the news during lunch. The members of Houkago Tea Time were the first friends Mugi really had. Sumire had helped Mugi go away on family trips before, but she always returned to Japan. She couldn’t return from marriage, and if Sumire went along with her, then she’d be taken away from me, after she had started coming out of her shell.

The issue of children was something Sumire had always heard about, but never considered until now. At this very moment, Houkago Tea Time was performing their first major label concert. If John’s prediction came to pass, it could very well be their last. Music isn’t something Mugi could outgrow, Sumire was thinking, it’s an essential part of who she is. As far as she knew, there were no other keyboardists in the greater Toyosato area. None with her lady’s level of skill.

“Tsumu-gi?” asked John, “Is something bothering you?”

“It’s a lot to take in,” said Sumire, “Barraud...”

“Call me John. In these matters, it is not purely business,” said John.

“John,” said Sumire, “Is there any chance that, upon marrying, you could stay in Japan and manage both companies that way? It would allow me to keep my musical career going...” she spoke uneasily the next few words, “until we start thinking about a family.”

“I do have a brother, but he has no interest in running the company,” said John, “I have friends that I’d be leaving behind as well. HMV is a big company. I’d need all the help I can get to keep it running. That’s how business works, doesn’t it? We merely give out orders, other people do them for us. We don’t need to be in the country to keep our influence strong.”

He and Sumire came to the front of a shrine in the middle of a park. They held hands as they walked up the steps.

I bent down and looked up the hill. It was steep, and if I wanted to get there without being seen, I would have to climb it myself. I sprinted up the slope, fighting against the deep patches of grass and piles of rocks that crossed my path. A small rock slid against the bottom of my shoe, causing me to lose my balance. My elbows and knees were dirty, but I couldn’t let that stop me. My breath short, I arrived at the top of the hill, and hid behind the shrine.

John and Sumire arrived shortly thereafter. Sumire paid a coin to the shrine, praying that this undercover date wouldn’t get worse. John tossed in a coin as well, and quickly muttered something under his breath.

“Tsumu-gi, there’s something I’ve been holding back on,” John said, “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you.”

“I saw the photograph,” said Sumire.

“Not that,” said John, “My family always went on a vacation in Japan when I was in high school. That’s how I came to like this country. My grasp of the language might need a little work,” he said.

All this time I thought he was unaware of that one.

“One year, my family and I were taking a trip in the Sunflower Ferry. I was on deck, looking at the shore through my binoculars. I saw you and your friends, playing in the sand, having fun. I had no idea you were a band, or that it was your private beach,” he said.

Sumire was reacting to this with a stare that indicated curiosity more than knowledge. She had heard about Mugi using her family’s beach properties as training camps, but heard very little about what went on there. It had been years since. Most of it was vague recollections in the back of her mind.

“That was when I saw you. You weren’t shy or running about without purpose. You were the princess of the beach. The ship sailed around day after day, and I saw your boldness time and time again. I fell in love instantly, without even knowing your name. To think that we could meet again after all this time, my love,” he said, kissing Sumire’s hand.

Sumire ignored the kiss. She was still staring at John blankly. “I don’t understand,” she said, “When you say ‘boldness’, what are you talking about?” John leaned down and whispered in her ear. Sumire’s eyes went blank.

“You still love me even though I did all that?” asked Sumire, sliding away from John.

“I love you because you did that. If you’d be willing to do it again, with your consent, of course, I would love you even more. This was only the first impression. Now that I’ve spent so much time with you, I know you and I make an even more wonderful pair. Are these feelings mutual, Tsumu-gi?” he asked.

Sumire reached into her pocket and felt her cell phone. She said she had a call coming in. Her phone wasn’t ringing at all. “It’s set on vibrate,” Sumire said, “I’ll be right back.” She ran behind the shrine, and found me. Sumire hugged me tightly. All that energy she uses when playing the drums was now channelled into not letting me go. I got my arms out of her grip, and readjusted my glasses.

“What did he say?” I asked.

Sumire whispered the contents in my ear. Some of it didn’t sound so bad. “Sumire, how could you not have noticed this?” I said. “That’s seriously dirty.”

“I think Ritsu might have coerced her. But Lady Tsumugi is always interested in what the commoners do, so some of it must have been her own idea. If only I’d gone to that training camp with her. I’m such a terrible maid,” she said.

“This date’s not over yet,” I said. “You can always call your father and...”

Sumire’s phone actually was ringing. She didn’t recognize the number, and picked up. “Sumire Saito speaking, who is this?” she asked.

“Masaka Yumeno,” came the voice out of the speaker, barely audible.

“How did you get this number?” Sumire asked.

“The greatest thing money can buy is an appreciation of the things money cannot buy,” said Yumeno, “Your seats are reserved, so you might want to get back to the Budokan.” The phone went silent. Sumire was able to make slightly more sense of that than what John had told her.

“Nao, let’s go,” said Sumire, “Milady’s music will be the perfect chance to take all this off my mind.”

“What are we going to do about Barraud?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I’ll figure that out when we get there,” said Sumire. She took a deep breath and walked around to the front of the shrine. She grabbed ahold of the rope holding the ceremonial bell, and let it swing in the April breeze. The brassy echoes calmed her heart.

My run towards the bottom of the cliff was going to be a lot quicker.

“Tsumu-gi,” said John, “Where are we going?”

“There’s something I want to attend at the Budokan,” said Sumire. She walked down the steps one at a time, carrying a ladylike poise in her step. She checked her purse, making sure our tickets were in there.

John ran after her. Sumire’s walking was faster than he could run. It wasn’t until they made it out onto the sidewalk that John was able to break through to her again.

“The Nippon Budokan,” said John, “I’ve been seeing posters for that all over town today. I’m surprised a foreign girl like yourself has an interest in a band that only recently rose out of local stardom. Are you the one that signed them?”

The sweat on Sumire’s forehead had gotten between her false eyebrows. The adhesive was starting to wear thin, causing one of her eyebrows to droop downward, exposing part of her head, which hadn’t gotten anything in hours, to the fresh sensation of the outdoor breeze. She winced a little.

“Something like that,” said Sumire.

“Cool,” said John, making a pointing motion with his fingers, “That’s the other reason why I’m here. I’ve got Valiant in Nagoya and Wembley in Hokkaido. We’re looking for a cool new sound. Didn’t you say something about being in a band?” he asked.

“Yes, I play dru- keyboard,” said Sumire, almost slipping again.

“What was the name of your band? I’d love to hear them play sometime,” said John.

“Houkago Tea Time,” answered Sumire slowly, her smile widening as she spoke.

Sumire and John pulled into a district filled with advertisements for the battle of the bands at the Budokan. Posters, video advertisements, even one on the side of a truck, all prominently displayed the band name, and mentioned that they were playing today, and today only. I darted between the light poles on the opposite side of the street, even hiding behind a food stand at one point.

“Tsumu-gi, that’s the name of your band,” said John. “What are you doing out here? One of your eyebrows is starting to fall off.” He reached out towards Sumire’s right eye with his hand, peeling off the fake eyebrow and holding it between his fingers. “You’re not Tsumu-gi,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Sumire, bowing rapidly until her other eyebrow started to slip off, “I know I’m not Lady Tsumugi. I wasn’t able to get her to come from the Budokan, so when you mistook me for her, I went along with it, and I didn’t know when to stop. I wanted to see if you were a good person.”

“How much of this was a lie? If I never got to know the real Tsumu-gi,” he said.

“Nobody knows milady better than I do,” said Sumire. “I’m Sumire Saito. I play the drums, and these aren’t my real eyebrows.”

“Sumiire?” asked John. “Are you her friend?”

Sumire felt her tension easing a bit. “Yes. No. I’ve been around her for a long time, because I’m her maid. I may have told you more than she would. A lady is expected to be proper, but a maid has no such restrictions.”

I stopped doing nothing and ran across the street before the light turned. I stepped in front of Sumire, holding a faded glow stick in my hand as if it were a police baton. “Sumire, what are you doing?” I asked.

“You look familiar,” said John, “Nao Okuda. Are you really Tsumu-gi’s producer? Or are you a waitress?”

“I’m not a waitress. I was lucky I survived a physical thing like that at all. Mugi and I haven’t talked that much,” I said, “but I am Sumire’s friend, and I really am her producer. We were together in the same light music club. Mugi left just before I joined. Sumire didn’t mean any harm by this, she just really cares about her lady. Please don’t make a scene of this.”

“That does explain why you wanted to get to the concert,” said John. “Why would my father and Mr. Kotobuki schedule our meeting on the day of Tsumu-gi’s performance?”

“Milady did inform her father, but I don’t know if the message got further than that,” said Sumire. “There’s something I want to talk about with you, Barraud,” she lost her shy demeanor. “Why are you taking milady away from me? Why do you want to make her be a mother this early? Lady Tsumugi is a worldly woman. She can pursue her career as much as you can pursue yours. Don’t try to decide things for her that make her whole life dependent on yours! She’s...”

Someone was walking in our direction, opposite the crowds. The people kept moving towards their own destination, but she dodged between them effortlessly, coming to the almost deserted block where we stood. Sumire became excited in an instant, peeking over my shoulder. She went ahead of me and John, bowing towards the person coming our way.

“Milady!” she exclaimed.

The wind blowing through the streets had roughed up her hair, and her clothes had small patches of sweat starting to form. Her eyebrows were large and bushy and genuine. She kept her eyes closed; a smile was across her face. Tsumugi Kotobuki had come all the way out here. All the nervousness from this afternoon was focused onto her.

She gave a quick glance at me and Sumire, walking forward towards John. His eyes went up and down, examining her body. When he got to her eyebrows, he bent down on one knee and held out his hand towards hers, and spoke melodramatically.

“Tsumu-gi! It is really you,” he said, “Forgive me, for I fear I may have fallen for your maid, but it is you that I really love!”

“John,” said Mugi calmly, “I thought the meeting was rescheduled. I am interested in relationships, but only watching others’. I still have a lot I need to learn before I make a decision like that. What’s most important to me right now are my friends and my music. You must have things you want to do outside your family as well. I encourage you, go and do them. We can try this again at a later date.”

John stood up. “Do you not like me?”

“I don’t know you well enough. I do have a concert I need to get back to, so this date can be considered over for now. I hope we can meet again,” she said.

John reached into his pocket, and started walking in the opposite direction. He made it to the end of the block before abruptly turning around, getting himself closer to Mugi than he had been before. Her eyes opened. They were a darker color than Sumire’s, showing only the slightest hint of weakness.

“Tsumu-gi, before I go,” said John. “Was that you....?” He whispered the rest into her ear. Sumire and I were impressed at how little reaction Mugi was showing to these acts. All we could see was the back of her head.

“We’ll talk about this later,” said Mugi.

John’s expression changed from boyish curiosity into swift compliance. He turned around and walked towards the horizon, shouting “Good bye!” in our direction. He took a call on his cell phone before he vanished. We could overhear him talking to Valiant, and something about a club.

“Sumire, why are you shaking?” I asked.

Mugi turned around to face Sumire and me. Her smile had not faded, but her eyes had changed subtly. I was no longer nervous, because it had all been replaced by fear of what Mugi could do. Sumire’s warm hands grasped onto mine. She knew what to expect out of this, and was trying to protect me.

“Milady,” said Sumire, bowing.

“Sumire, why didn’t you call me?” asked Mugi.

“I tried to, Milady, but I wasn’t able to get through. How did you know we were here? My father is back in Shiga and...” said Sumire.

Mugi said, “Oh, Yui passed out. While we were waiting for her to wake up, I got a call from Miss Yumeno. She’s helped us out so much.” That name again, Yumeno. The green haired girl in Akiba had mentioned it too. Everyone but me had been touched by her presence. I was just... normal.

“Why are you still keeping your eyes like that?” I said.

“I promise I did nothing to defile your image, milady,” said Sumire, “I’ve been by your side your whole life. I know more about you than anyone else. You’re the closest thing I have to a big sister. An aloof big sister, but I don’t want to lose you so soon. I didn’t even want to get Nao involved, so spare her, please.”

“Nao?” asked Mugi, “Ah, I’ve heard about you from Azu-nyan. Are you enjoying Tokyo?” she said.

“Yes. It’s a very lively city,” I answered.

“Enjoy the concert,” she said. Mugi turned to Sumire and turned on her stare again. “The cost of the lunch is coming out of your pay. Run these things by me next time.” Then back to normal. “Have a good day.”

Mugi started walking in the direction of the Budokan. Kitaku Free Time’s set was finishing up, and her friends needed their keyboardist. Sumire was still holding my hand. It was only us on that street, watching the wind blow through the alleyway and past the shrubbery. I pulled Sumire in the direction of the stadium, but she resisted.

“You’re the one with the tickets,” I said.

“Nao, why did you insist on following me?” asked Sumire, “You’re unknown in my world. The reason why I wanted to come to Tokyo was to make you happy. If I wanted to hear milady play, I live with her. You, you’re always at your computer, composing and arranging. You don’t need to overwork yourself.”

“I’m the only person who can’t play an instrument. That means I have to work twice as hard so that everyone else makes this band work,” I said. “I thought by getting close to you, I’d be more like a real musician. All I can do is tag along, and even at that I make mistakes.”

“That’s why this concert is important,” said Sumire, “Yui was like you. She thought she would become a NEET, but this club gave her a home. I wanted you to see what this club’s alumni are capable of. It doesn’t matter if you can’t play an instrument. You do something that nobody else can do. I’ve thought that since my second year.”

“Sumire,” I said, holding back my tears.  


* * *

We presented our tickets at the booth, running through the halls to get to the concert on time. Sumire had put on her Mugi Fan Club gear, finding the section of the crowds where fans like her were gathered. She picked me up a Yui Fan Club jacket from the merchandising booth. It was a little big on me, and I barely had time to put it over my shoulders before the concert began.

I looked up at the stage. From here, Houkago Tea Time appeared like living legends. Their white dresses shone brightly underneath the heavy lights, making them stand out even more against the pitch blackness of the arena.

“We are Houkago Tea Time!” Yui shouted into the microphone.

Those next hours were a spectacle of light and sound, not once drawing attention away from the girls on stage. When the performance ended, the two bands, totaling fourteen people, walked on stage. I took off my glasses and rubbed them against my shirt. My vision returned, the image on stage unchanged.

It was as though someone had placed a mirror across the stage. The instruments, the proportions, the hairstyles, everything between the two groups was identical. The biggest difference was the hair colors. Every member of Kitaku Free Time had hair in a bold, deeply saturated color, not commonly seen. I wonder if they dyed their hair, and if so, why?

“Sumiire,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder, “Do you find something odd about the other band?”

“Is there something?” asked Sumire.

“Never mind,” I said.

Azusa, Ui and Jun were up there, standing beside each other, and apart from the other four. They were so far away, the crowds so large that there was no way they could notice us. The two bands started bantering on stage, with Ritsu and Ran Fujii taking the microphones.

“Alright, alright, did you all enjoy the show?” asked Ritsu. The audience erupted into cheers. “As the leader of Houkago Tea Time, I’ve decided we’re going to put on a show together!”

“After some intimate discussion with Michi, I found out she wanted to play something that came to her in a dream. Be careful, high schoolers. You wouldn’t want our hardcore soul to dirty your purity,” said Ran slyly.

“You’re the ones who should watch out. We might outshine you with your own song,” said Ritsu, “Whoever gets the loudest cheers makes the other band do a penalty game at the after party.”

“It’s on,” said Ran.

Mugi whispered something in Azusa’s ear. She grabbed the microphone out of Ritsu’s hand. “Before we begin, there’s someone in the audience I’d like to thank.”

The spotlights danced around the audience before focusing in on Sumire and myself. We stood up from our seats, and the crowd fell silent.

“Nao! Sumiire! Without you two, the light music club might have been dissolved again, and I’m not very good at forcing people in like Ritsu,” said Azusa. Ritsu smirked at that, “Especially you, Nao. We own the stage, but someday, you’ll control this entire hall. This goes out to you.” Asada, the second guitarist in KFT, was applauding.

Azusa shouted from the bottom of her heart, “The Houkago Tea Time tonight hasn’t ended yet! One two three FOUR!”

There were some parts where the bands didn’t match up perfectly. Yui and Yorozu competed with each other on vocals, and the song changed tone in an instant. As the closing chorus came to a crescendo, the sound of the instruments felt different. The feelings beneath each of the bands conflicted, but neither felt less authentic than the other.

I wonder what the punishment game was going to be.

“My rock spirit...” said Yui and Yorozu together, “...cannot be stopped!”  


* * *

Sumire and I were back in our hotel room. We were going to spend another day in Tokyo before returning to our classes. She was sitting next to one of her drums, and I was at the computer. I had been plugging in notes into my software, trying to recreate the final song. I was close, but some of the music was improvised. My recording had so much background noise it was tough to make out some of the nuances.

“What did you think?” asked Sumire.

“It wasn’t very good,” I said, “Can we go again?”

Sumire’s phone was ringing. She casually answered it, surprised by the ecstatic voice on the other end.

“Sumiire!” That accent, it had to be him. “Valiant found a new sound! You have got to listen to it!”

“Later. I’ve had a lot of music lately,” said Sumire, “Good bye, John.” Sumire let out a sigh. “Of course, he only has my cell number.”

There was a knock at the door. I called out from my chair. “Who is it?”

“Sumire, can you let me in?” asked a soft voice behind the door.

Sumire answered it, bowing as she was accustomed to. “Good evening, milady.” Mugi, looking as cheery as ever, was standing outside the door in her pajamas. Her keyboard, which was really heavy, was behind her. She dragged it in and set it up in the living room beside Sumire’s drums.

“Milady, what are you doing here so late? Shouldn’t you be out with your friends?” asked Sumire.

“Yui and the others already fell asleep,” said Mugi, “What you said today made me realize that I haven’t gotten to know you as well as I should. I need someone to take care of things for me, and I’d want that to be someone I can trust. So I was thinking we could perform a song together.”

“Can I play?” I asked.

“You two provide the beat, and I’ll provide the melody,” she said, “Does ‘Honey sweet tea time’ sound good?” We would have been fine with any song.

The steady beat of the drums started to resound.  
The computer’s digital notes became a countermelody.  
The keyboard, elegant but common, colored the room with its timbre.

Our anthology.


End file.
